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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22683526">what's good in the world</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishuponanightsky/pseuds/wishuponanightsky'>wishuponanightsky</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Art Professor Marcus Kane, Bellamy Blake as Marcus Kane's son, British Literature Professor Abby, College Student Bellamy Blake, College Student Clarke Griffin, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Pining Bellamy Blake, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, artist lexa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 09:09:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>61,775</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22683526</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishuponanightsky/pseuds/wishuponanightsky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Abby Griffin is the British Lit professor at The Ark, Arts College of Oklahoma, and this September has brought her even less students than the previous years. Desperate to save the job that she loves, she would do anything.<br/>Marcus Kane is enjoying his new chance at life, his successful career and his wonderful son. He is happy, in every way possible.<br/>An unlikely partnership shatters everything they thought they knew about themselves, and each other. They find themselves having to choose between truth and habit, and it is no easy feat.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Abby Griffin/Marcus Kane, Bellamy Blake &amp; Clarke Griffin, Clarke Griffin/Lexa (secondary)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>176</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/StealingFire/gifts">StealingFire</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic came to mind while I was reading StealingFire's works (which are amazing), and I had to get it out. I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.<br/>NB: all depictions of Tulsa, Oklahoma and its surroundings are fictional :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The sun was rising over Tulsa, Oklahoma. In the trees around the suburbs, the birds were happily chirping. And, underneath the very same trees, using the few hours of fresh air the city got before the heat of the day hit, was Abby Griffin, on her morning run. She’d started running as a New Year’s resolution and had never been able to stop. She now needed it when she had a big day ahead—and today was probably the biggest day of the year. It was the day she welcomed her students for the year at the Ark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Ark. Her home for ten years now. She taught British Literature there and loved every second of it. Almost. The college’s true name was the Arts College of Oklahoma, but “The Ark” had stuck, until becoming its actual name a few years after Abby’s arrival. She didn’t remember much of the ceremony, but it was a fond memory. She’d learned, that day, that it was called the Ark because of its early days reputation of taking in students who had been rejected from the other universities in Tulsa. She’d laughed softly at that, because it was now the most famous and renowned college of all Oklahoma. She loved that college, its dark wooden walls that only gave way to old stone in certain classrooms, its large lawns, its excited students and exhausted colleagues. It truly was her home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slowed her running down to a jog as her house came into sight. She was sweaty, and her cheeks burned from the effort, but she felt awake and ready to start her day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later, she was pushing her front door and dropping a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. Clarke would be twenty in less than two months, but she was still her baby. Though, with her recent haircut and bleaching, she looked much older—something that never failed to make an overwhelming emotion invade her chest. She wasn’t ready to lose her only child to adulthood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ew mom, you’re dripping!” Clarke half-laughed, half-yelled. She returned her kiss, though, wiping her mouth afterward, a disgusted grimace twisting her traits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the price of a toned body at almost 40!” Abby replied, her eyes twinkling. Both women knew that was a joke, as Abby was always very self-conscious about her body—hence the running.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m leaving now,” Clarke said, as if she hadn’t been about to walk out the door. “I’m having coffee with Bellamy before our classes start, but even considering that, you’re late.” And with that, she kissed her mother’s cheek again, winked at her, and left. She’d always been too energetic to manage, but now that she was studying something that she cared about, she was constantly ecstatic somehow. Her sophomore year at the Ark looked promising. Too bad her main professor was who he was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her daughter was right, though, and she was almost running late. She wouldn’t have time to pass by the staff room. Oh well, that only meant more time for her to collect her thoughts before seeing him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’d known. She’d known her class of freshmen was smaller than last year’s. That had been the case every September for a few years now. But there was a difference between seeing the numbers on paper and having thirty teenagers staring back at you, wondering why you couldn’t stop glancing at the empty seats at the back of the room. It was her third year in a classroom, an amphitheater having proved unnecessary when the number of students had dipped under one hundred.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Come on, Abby, get a grip.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome, everyone. Welcome to the Ark, and to the British Literature lecture. Hi, I’m Abby Griffin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was truly disconcerting, how underwhelming their voices were—it was less of a greeting and more of a morose ritual, performed strictly out of social convention. Though, wasn’t that exactly what a greeting was? She’d gotten used to more voices, nevertheless, if not to more vigor.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They’re freshmen. They’re probably more terrified than you are right now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” she said, trying to find her optimism again, “let me take you through the syllabus, and then we’ll get started!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time the lesson was over, Abby had gotten more comfortable with her small class, and after hearing their cheery goodbyes, she had hope that they would have a good year. She only prayed that it wouldn’t be her last. A slender blonde girl stayed behind to ask her about one book they had to read, and they ended up chatting for a few minutes, which significantly improved her mood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” she said just as the girl was about to leave the room, “I didn’t even get your name!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harper McIntyre, ma’am. Nice to meet you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she slipped out the door, probably late for her next class.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abby gathered her things, dragging a loving gaze over her mahogany desk. The picture of Jake—the only alteration she’d made to the room—hadn’t been disturbed during the summer and was even getting a little dusty. She’d have to clean it sometime.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was quite a big class you had there, Griffin. Next year you might land at least four of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her head snapped up, recognizing the voice instantly. Marcus Kane. Jesus, had he been waiting behind the door to make a dramatic entrance? There was no end to this man’s desire to impress and one-up her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Four classes is more than you get, might I remind you,” she replied, trying to keep her tone even and uninterested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled, his low, earthy tone sending shivers down her spine. Her contradictory reactions to him were part of the reason she hated his guts. He was such an asshole, but her body was drawn to his, irresistibly. She shook the unwelcome thoughts out of her head and stared straight at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I meant four students.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms, boring his muddy brown eyes into her. She held his gaze, even if his words had felt like a punch to the gut. This was a battle she refused to lose. She took a few tentative steps forward. She didn’t want to seem scared of him but had no desire of being too close to him either. She stopped a few feet away from him and tilted her head to the right, trying her best not to look anywhere else than his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you here, Kane?” Not that she cared. She didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They insisted on using the other’s last name, for a reason unknown to Abby. Probably because the thought of the slightest familiarity between them was repulsive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just wanted to see the damage,” he sneered. “And notify you that I still have Clarke’s class, as you still have Bellamy’s.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy Blake, Kane’s son, was a sophomore, Clarke’s best friend, and one of Abby’s best students. She didn’t know how a man like Kane had a son as gentle and sweet as Bellamy, but he did. Probably thanks to his mother, considering that he bore her last name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fact that they each had the other’s child as a student had been both a blessing and a curse. Of course, Bellamy and Clarke had heard their parent pester about their colleague for years, but fate had willed it so that they became best friends. And, the cherry on top, Abby was Bellamy’s favorite teacher (Clarke had told her)... and Kane was Clarke’s. Long story short, Abby and Kane had decided to be as civil as they could manage, for their children’s sake. Apparently, “civil” did include coming to the other’s room to mock the death of the subject they taught.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great,” Abby sighed. “I’ll have to listen to how great a teacher you are for another year. Hope Bellamy makes us even.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, he does.” Kane’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. He was still sporting his signature smirk, and Abby clenched her jaw, wishing she could wipe it clean off his face. She didn’t get a chance to, however, because Kane turned his back to her and walked away, waving a dismissive hand at her. “Cheers, Griffin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once she was alone, she realized just how tense her whole body had gotten. She tried to relax, but she was still fuming. What a bastard. Every single word he’d come here to say had been intended to hurt her, to make her feel small, and she had a bad feeling that it was just a hint of what he had in store.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sat back down at her desk and sighed deeply. She couldn’t really remember where their feud had started, and she doubted that he could, either. Kane had arrived from the countryside four years ago, and they’d been enemies ever since. Maybe he’d been rude at the coffee machine one morning, or maybe she’d forgotten to hold the door for him. But hatred had grown, along with this side of attraction that she found more and more difficult to ignore. One thing she would not suffer, though, was the advantage that her freshman class gave Kane. That was a vicious blow, one that took the air out of her lungs and made her want to cry. She knew he’d insult her over and over again, reminding her that she was such a lousy teacher that she had killed a class all by herself. She used to pride herself on her teaching, but that wouldn’t be the case anymore. No matter how much her classes would seem to enjoy her lectures, she knew all she would ever see were those thirty freshmen, looking lost in her huge classroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She decided to head to the amphitheater gallery, to see if she could catch Clarke between two of her classes. Seeing her daughter never failed to placate her, and remind her that there was good in the world, even if Marcus Kane </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>very good at making her forget that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her idea proved fruitful, as, walking down the corridors to the gallery, she was greeted by many students and teachers. Her mood was improving by the minute. She walked past Indiana Jones’ amphitheater, which was packed. That was no surprise, the man was practically a legend. Students came from all over the US to follow his course. He taught Ancient Arts, but it was really more archeology than anything. She’d gone to one of his lectures when she’d first arrived, and even if she didn’t know anything about it, she’d found it fascinating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was close friends with one of her Literature colleagues; Irina Spalko. She taught Russian Literature, was Russian herself, and was probably one of the strangest people Abby had ever met. Her hair was eternally styled in her strict black bob, and she spoke with a heavy accent—though she had a vocabulary that made every other Literature teacher pale with jealousy. She was nice enough, but never took the time to form close bonds with any other professor. Except Indiana Jones, for some reason. Abby suspected that there was something more between them, even if neither of them would ever confirm it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She finally located Clarke, and waved at her, hoping she wouldn’t be too embarrassed to be seen with her mother. It had never been the case, though, and Clarke’s face genuinely lit up at the sight of her. She made her way through the crowd and kissed her mother’s cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom! Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” Clarke smiled, radiant as ever. Abby guessed her first class had gone well, though she couldn’t remember which one it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” She shot back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going there now…” Her eyes were twinkling with an unspoken joke, and Abby immediately understood where her daughter was headed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, great.” She rolled her eyes. “Give the man my love. He just came to my room. My first class, on my first day, and here he is!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Figures,” Clarke shrugged. “I saw him walking down this very corridor, looking dreadful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Good.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dreadful?</span>
  </em>
  <span> That didn’t make any sense, but Abby wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want to come with me?” Clarke proposed. Abby knew her daughter had meant that as a joke, but she needed to see. She needed to know just how bad it was, how hard she’d have to fight back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Thankfully, her voice didn’t betray her uneasiness. She hadn’t let on to Clarke how bad the situation was, and she didn’t want to lose her cool, especially now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All her worst nightmares became true when she entered Kane’s amphitheater. It was full. More than full. Crowded, from wall to wall. The chatter was deafening, and she almost couldn’t spot him from where she was standing on the top row.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He… probably was the most successful professor in the whole college. He might be moved to Jones’ amphitheater, which was the biggest one, if he kept that up. She wanted to feel angry, but she just felt defeated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kane stood up, and immediately, everyone sat down. In a matter of five seconds, everyone was quietly sitting. Abby and Kane were the only two people left standing, and his eyes landed on her. Captured her. Glued her to the ground. Surprise crossed his face, followed by something akin to joy (</span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span>), before settling on his eternal defiant smirk. He opened his mouth, as if to acknowledge her, and she slipped out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She walked away as fast as she could without it seeming like she was running. The corridors were mostly empty now, and the only sounds she could hear, thunderous, were her breathing, ragged and shallow, and the clacking of her boots on the floor. Her eyes were burning, and she felt like all life had been drained from her body. He’d won. There was no fighting him anymore. He’d well and bloody won. Maybe he was a good teacher, after all, and maybe she sucked. Maybe she’d deserved all his insults. Maybe he was entitled to them. The students sure seemed to think so. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck’s sake, Abby. </span>
  </em>
  <span>In half an hour, she had the sophomores, Bellamy’s class. She loved that class, they were all as interested as can be in what she had to say, and they participated as much as they could. She needed to put on a brave face for them. She owed them that much.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Marcus looked around the room, to all his chattering students. He was glad to be back, but he felt gloomy since his encounter with Abby. He’d been awful to her. Of course, that was perfectly normal between them, but looking at his class that was so huge he couldn’t even see everyone, he could barely imagine what she felt. Oh well. That was the basis of their relationship, and he wasn’t someone she expected to find comfort in. He needed to keep her on her toes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered what she would do to fight the decline of British Lit. She wasn’t the type of person to just give up—he knew that because she’d never given up on trying to make his life hell. Maybe she’d hand out flyers. Maybe she’d ask for help from her colleagues. Who knew. He was confident that she’d find a way, though. He tried to ignore how tight his stomach had gotten at the thought of Abby not teaching there anymore, but to no avail. Damn his overreactive body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rose from his seat, and immediately, everyone sat down. Only one figure remained standing. His eyes fell on her. Abby. What was she doing here? His heart was caught in his throat. Had she come to hear his lecture? That would be very strange, given how rude he’d been to her not twenty minutes before. He realized he was staring and quickly regained composure. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Say something, Marcus. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He opened his mouth but saw her rush out the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was left hanging, mouth gaping open, and felt his body urging to leap forward, to climb up the stairs and run after her, to ask her why she’d been there, and why she’d left so hurriedly. To grab her arm and force her to look at him, to get lost in her eyes the color of his morning caramel macchiato. To tease her, if only to elicit a few words out of her, to hear her deep, gravelly voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But his class was in session, and he had a few hundred students looking at him expectantly. Well, that left but one option.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome, everyone, and welcome back to those of you who are unlucky enough to have me for a second year. Let’s get started, shall we?”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, this is it for the first chapter, which I hope you enjoyed. It is very much an introduction, and probably my least favorite out of all the chapters I've written so far.<br/>I'd be thrilled to count you in on this ride, so keep reading? :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Marcus strikes up a fight. Two coffee shops are involved.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A week had passed since classes had started again at the Ark, and Marcus Kane was worried. He wasn’t the worrying type, which made him worry even more. And, worst of all, he was worried about Abby Griffin. That was the straw that was bound to break his back at some point during the next few days. Sure, she was his sworn enemy, but lately, she hadn’t even been that. On the rare occasions when they’d crossed paths, she’d politely nodded at him rather than roll her eyes at him like she usually did. Ignored him rather than insulting him. And surely, that should have made Marcus a happy man. All he’d wanted for the past few years was to get her out of his hair, but he found that her pacifism </span>
  <em>
    <span>worried </span>
  </em>
  <span>him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was desperately trying to pretend that his concern had nothing to do with the growing compassion he felt for her regarding the possible end of British Literature at the Ark, but it wasn’t going well. He felt for her. She was a bitch, but only in character, she wasn’t a bad person and didn’t deserve that happening to her. He sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dad, you did it </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Bellamy’s voice was exasperated as he looked up from his textbook for the fifth time since they’d sat down for breakfast.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Marcus breathed out. He felt trapped in an unspeakable mess. He couldn’t tell anybody what his troubles were about, because he supposedly hated Abby, and he was nothing if not a man of reputation. Besides, he really wasn’t her biggest fan. She got on his nerves. But that was only when she acted like herself, which most definitely hadn’t been the case that past week.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. Something’s wrong.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marcus looked up and smiled at his son. He was a bit too perceptive for his own good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing serious, don’t worry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, obviously it’s serious because you haven’t even noticed the piece of toast I made you, let alone eaten it.” Bellamy chuckled, but his eyes looked genuinely worried about his father. “So, what’s up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m worried about… someone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That cryptic answer only got him an inquisitive glance from a Bellamy that now had a mouth full of toast. He sighed again, looking down at the toasted bread, covered in butter, that his son had made him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Abby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Abby who?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus, Bell. Crumbs!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy finished chewing and swallowed with an innocent smile. Marcus was deeply convinced that a part of his son’s brain had gotten stuck in the cradle. No matter how many birthdays they celebrated, he was still a child.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry. Abby who?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know who.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I don’t. The only Abby I know is Abby Griffin, and I know it’s not her, so who?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. His son was teasing by nature and he’d never hear the end of it. He hated Abby Griffin and that was that. He wasn’t worried about her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No one. I have to go, I promised Indra I’d grab a coffee with her before class.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He got up, grabbed his bag and his piece of toast, and was gone a few seconds later, leaving a puzzled Bellamy to wonder what the hell was wrong with his father.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Abby was, quite ironically, having a very similar morning to Kane’s. But she wasn’t obsessing over him, far from it. In fact, she’d decided a few days ago to stop caring about him. She needed to focus on her classes, to be ready for every single one of them, and she could not feel as distraught as she’d felt that first day after seeing him. So, she’d elected to start treating him like any colleague.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, what bothered her was how to broach the topic of her dying class to the dean, later that day. She had to talk to him about how distressing the situation was, both to her and the college as a whole. She had to talk to him about possible solutions, the budgets that ensued, and how she could be an asset instead of a hindrance. She was no short of terrified, because she knew that talking about it made it real, and she didn’t want it to be real. A part of her still hoped that she could do nothing and that the numbers would go back up next year. But she knew that miracles didn’t happen, and she had to work hard if she wanted her situation to improve.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked around at her kitchen, wondering for the thousandth time if her life as she knew it was about to change. God, she hoped not. She felt as if she was nothing without teaching. The jacket that rested on the back of the chair opposite her was the one she liked to wear to college meetings. The box in her cupboard labeled “Mom’s Sweet Snack Box” had been gifted to her by Clarke when her daughter was only 5, because Abby liked to bring a chocolate bar or a brownie with her to work. She could link everything to teaching, one way or another. Teaching was her life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grabbed her jacket, her bag, and her keys and left the house, feeling it was useless to hang around any longer. She was ready for her meeting, and Clarke had gone early, like always, to meet Bellamy at Starbucks before their classes started and they were separated for the day. Abby sometimes wondered if those two were going to end up more than friends down the road, or if they already were. They’d gotten incredibly close, incredibly fast, and she’d only known that with Jake, back when she was 17.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t wish for Clarke to have the same kind of love story that she’d had, though, she thought while locking the door. She’d had Clarke at only 19, and, as much as she’d loved her daughter right away, that had complicated her getting a degree. Thankfully, Jake had been there to take care of their daughter, but he’d died when she was only 12, leaving Abby with a teenage daughter and a brand new wedding ring that burned her finger with its broken promise. It had taken her years to get over Jake and the future they’d planned. So, no, she didn’t wish that on her daughter, or on anyone, really.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shook her head as she turned on the ignition in her car. It was no use daydreaming about the past. Or the future for that matter. All there was was the present, the day of class that laid ahead of her, and the coffee she was going to indulge in before going back to the Ark.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Marcus sat in his favorite booth at the Hideaway, breathing in the delicious smell of his caramel macchiato with delight. The place was wonderfully named—it was where all middle-aged grunts like himself went to hide from the crowd of teenagers and young adults who invaded Starbucks every day. It was one of his happy places, even though he’d never admit it to anyone but Indra. She was his best friend, for all intents and purposes. He told her things he’d never tell another soul, although she never did the same. She was a mystery, but her comfort was something he often found himself in need of.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or some other days, like today, she summoned him, supposedly to “make sure he had some form of human contact”, but he knew she wanted to check on him. Back to school always took a toll on him—he was already drained of energy.</span>
  <em>
    <span> You’ll feel better in a week or two. Soldier on. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Indra interrupted his thoughts, walking up to his table. She was dressed in a three-piece pin-striped suit, dashing as ever, espresso in hand. He got up to plant a kiss on her cheek and sat back down with a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, Indra.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Marcus.” She greeted him with her usual nod of the head, accompanied by a warm smile. “Something is troubling you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She always saw right through him. He was nervous to tell him about what had occupied his mind for the past days because he’d only ever talked about Abby in the worst of lights. He usually asked Indra to come after a day when Abby had been particularly annoying, and vented out to her. This would be a big change, and not one he was looking forward to. He had to tell her, though, because if not her, who else?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have found myself in… a predicament of sorts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Indra leaned forward to hear what was coming next, Marcus’ attention was grabbed by the door chime tinkling. A familiar brunette head made its entrance, and, as always, Marcus lost his breath. She looked beautiful, her long hair that cascaded over her shoulder turning the color of caramel in the artificial light, her leather jacket thrown lazily over her shoulders, almost like a cape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Indra followed his bewitched gaze, amused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah,” she said. “I see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marcus barely heard her comment, captivated by the way Abby smiled at the barista, asking for news of his family. And suddenly, he felt angry. He’d worried so much about her, </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and here she was, smiling and going about her life like nothing was wrong. He wanted to go up to her and tell her what a manipulative bitch she was, but he realized that she’d done nothing, for once, and he’d only fallen victim to his own good nature. He turned his attention back to Indra, finding himself in a significantly worse mood than he’d been moments before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it’s nothing. It’s just that I don’t know what to buy Bellamy for Christmas,” he sighed, knowing Indra was too clever to believe him but too polite to push him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He proceeded to spend the next fifteen minutes discussing possible gift ideas. Damn Indra. Her philosophy was that, as long as he decided to lie to her and not bring up what truly bothered him, she would get him to talk about his pretense worries. Marcus felt like shit, and only looked up from his coffee to watch Abby leave, his fists clenching around his mug when he heard her bright goodbye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what, Indra… I have to leave. I have to adjust the PowerPoint for one of my lessons today, it’s really vital. Sorry, I’ll make it up to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table and all but ran out the door, giving Indra a half-hearted smile through the window. He knew he’d have to buy her dinner and give her an actual explanation next time he saw her, but right now he had to give in to an urge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Griffin!” He shouted after her, his voice hard and cold. He was regretting what he was doing as he was doing it, but he felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And to say he’d thought of her every day, almost caring for her. Maybe that had been her plan, she’d stopped replying to him to get him to question himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby turned around, her golden-brown eyes finding his in a matter of seconds, liquefying his insides. They demanded an answer to a question that didn’t need to be asked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What do you want?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, that’s it, huh?” He taunted. “You’re out of a job, so you flirt with every man you see, to get yourself, what, a sugar daddy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A flash of annoyance passed in her otherwise confused eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Kane. I have a job. I’m your </span>
  <em>
    <span>colleague</span>
  </em>
  <span>, remember? And what was that about flirting?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I saw you with that barista,” he growled, aware of how ridiculous he sounded. He wasn’t looking to actually accuse her of anything, though, he just wanted to get a reaction out of her. Her scoff indicated that he was about to get what he wanted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eric Jackson? He’s gay, for Christ’s sake. And half my age. And a barista, so I have no idea how he’d even–” She chuckled to herself. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to get me to snap. Because you’re a child, Kane.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>As much as she was trying to keep herself composed, Abby actually wanted nothing more than to take a swing at Kane. It probably wouldn’t hurt him too much, but her nerves had been building up for a few days now, what with her meeting with the dean approaching, and she desperately needed an outlet. Who better than Kane, especially when she could get away with it by saying he’d started it, which was true. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now, who’s the child? Shut up.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She walked closer to him, knowing very well that, while she was shorter than him, she had mastered her icy glare and would be able to win this round, simply because she wanted to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I won’t give you that satisfaction. You’re pathetic, you’re everything one ought to loathe in humanity, you’re low and shallow, and I’d be ready to bet that my insults are the closest thing to a relationship that you’ve had for a while now, which is why you’re so desperate for them. Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed this conversation because it’ll be our </span>
  <em>
    <span>last</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turning her back to him and walking back to her car without turning around to see what he was doing was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, but she managed it, and she suddenly felt elated. She rolled her window down and drove away, chuckling to herself. This felt so much better than punching him in the face. Oh, who was she kidding, she had missed this. She’d missed him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>In another cafe, not far from there, Clarke and Bellamy were chatting, unaware of their parents’ antics. But their young minds were seemingly prone to premonition, as Clarke was telling her friend about how her mom had been weird, lately, not talking much, and especially not about Kane.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just think it’s weird. She used to always talk about him. It was an obsession. I thought that, with them being back at work and whatnot, it’d start again, but it didn’t! She hasn’t talked about him since she came with me to his lecture last Monday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, same with my dad. He told me that her class was small, and then I didn’t hear her name again. But that’s not all, like. He’s been super weird. Down. And always somewhere else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both of them had a sense that something important and odd was unfolding, but it was far too confusing to pinpoint. Clarke was worried that Abby was too devastated about her class to keep up her feud with Kane, but that didn't sound like her mom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait a minute,” Bellamy said with a shit-eating grin. “My dad… This morning was particularly bad, he kept sighing, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> annoying because I was trying to revise, but I managed to get something out of him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke knew that whatever Bellamy had to say, it'd be good. He rarely looked as gleeful as he did now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He said he was worried about Abby.” Clarke's face was priceless. “Obviously I said 'Abby who?' because I didn't even consider the fact that it might be your mom, but I think…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was. It is! Oh, my God!” Clarke let out an incredulous laugh. “Why would he… What?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have no idea. But honestly, we should have seen it coming.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They chatted for a while about how their parents not only absolutely had a crush on each other, but were handling it like preschool idiots, then Bellamy’s phone rang.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait wait wait, Clarke. It’s him. It’s my dad.” He picked up with a playful smile. “Hi, dad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Bell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy could tell that his father was about to ask him something, most likely something he wasn’t proud of. That had been the tone he’d had that one time when he’d asked him to bring back pizza rolls. God, he was an open book.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it, dad?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need to ask you something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can tell.” He shot a grin at Clarke, who looked at him expectantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have class with Abby today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Abby? You mean Dr. Griffin?” Clarke’s eyes widened comically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I do have class with her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Could you go talk to her? At the end of your lesson? See if she seems down or anything?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Why?” Bellamy was actually confused now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We had a sort of… fight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Class hasn’t even started yet! Jesus, dad, where </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Hideaway’s parking lot. Don’t ask. Listen, Bell, can you do this for me or not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Marcus hung up. Bellamy could barely believe the conversation he’d just had. His dad and Abby Griffin had had a fight in a parking lot? His and Clarke’s crush hypothesis seemed feeble now. But had they actually thrown punches, or did they stick to their usual insults? Or was it more like, what, a lovers’ quarrel? </span>
  <em>
    <span>“We’ve had a fight”</span>
  </em>
  <span> What did that even mean?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clarke, you’ll never believe what my dad just asked me.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Abby meets with Jaha to discuss the course of action she has to take. Marcus’ afternoon stroll is interrupted by a strange phone call.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Abby was pacing outside the dean’s office, waiting for Clarke to pick up her phone. She had ten minutes until her appointment, and she needed to vent to someone about her clash with Kane. Clarke the only person on earth who was used to it </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mom, I’m with Bell, what’s going on?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, finally! You’ve never waited this long to pick up your phone. You’ll never guess what he did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s ‘he’?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, you know who. Him. He came up to me at the Hideaway, looking for a fight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Looking for a fight? Wow, mom. That’s weird.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Okay. Clarke was not nearly as shocked as Abby thought she would be. He was her favorite teacher after all, and maybe a twisted part of her had looked forward to tarnishing his image. But still, her daughter’s unimpressed tone was one that she wasn’t familiar with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, he accused me of wanting to bang Eric Jackson, you know, the barista.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I have no idea who that is, but—” She put her hand over the mic and Abby was left listening to silence for a long ten seconds. “You’re on speaker, mom. Why the hell did he care about that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, what? Don’t put me on speaker! Who’s with you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s only me, Dr. Griffin. Bellamy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, hi.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You called to brief me, mom, what makes you think Dr. Kane didn’t do the exact same?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kane had called Bellamy to tell him about the fight? Why had he done that? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Does he have no shame?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She couldn’t wrap her head around the idea that he would call his son to tell him he’d tried to start a fight. In a parking lot, of all places.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… He called you, Bellamy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I’d rather not get involved, I—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My daughter put you on speaker, you’re already involved, young man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, he called me.” She heard him whisper something to Clarke, who whispered back, but she couldn’t make out the words. “He was actually worried about you.” Bellamy’s voice was hesitant. But Abby was Bellamy’s professor, and had been for a while now. She knew how he sounded like when he lied, and that wasn’t it. However, she knew what he sounded like when he was admitting to something. He sounded just like that. That could only mean one thing. Kane had, in fact, been worried about her. But why would he call Bellamy about that? And why would he even worry in the first place? </span>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>had come up to </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The dean’s office door opening jerked her out of her reverie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to go. See you later, both of you.” She hung up and stuffed the phone in her pocket. “Hi, Thelonious.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaha gave her a look and ushered her inside his office. He looked displeased with something, and Abby thought it might have something to do with the rather personal conversation she was having right outside his office. She didn’t have the resolve to defend herself, especially after what Bellamy had revealed to her. It had sparked confusion in her, but she knew that it would turn to ire at the first frustration. So she sat back and braced for what was coming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t particularly appreciate you having those sorts of conversations right outside my door, Abby,” was all that she was given in lieu of a greeting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry. It was rather urgent and I didn’t think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaha raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Abby did her best to look sheepish and hoped he’d move on to the real reason both of them were here—Abby’s dying subject. She wasn’t in the mood for an interrogation but knew there was a fifty-fifty chance that he’d eavesdropped and would ask her who had struck up a fight with her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure of that. But that’s not what we’re here to discuss, is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phew.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They spent the next fifteen minutes assessing numbers and statistics, studying registrations, before getting to the inevitable conclusion: this was Abby’s last freshman class if they didn’t do something to increase dramatically the number of registrations.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, for the million-dollar question…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do we do that?” Abby breathed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She couldn’t think properly. She felt as if her body was spiraling out of this realm, and all kinds of winds were swirling around her, threatening to pluck her from where she stood and blow her away to a place she didn’t know. Her breath was short and a familiar lump was growing in her throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No. Stop that. This is not helping.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What drew students in? The two biggest classes, Kane’s and Jones’, were popular because of word of mouth and social media. Such a following was gained over the years, and she didn’t have years. So she had to make waves. To get everyone to talk about British Literature at the Ark. So what, an event? She voiced that to Jaha, who nodded appreciatively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It seems like the most efficient idea, indeed,” he agreed. “But what kind of event can really showcase British Literature?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, we could have a sort of exposition. With visual support, that could lead to conferences all around the college.” Abby was fully improvising, but she liked what she was saying. “We could hold it during a class week, so people could also go to lectures from other professors, it would give the college great publicity!” The ideas were suddenly filling her brain and tumbling out onto her tongue. She could have planned the whole thing right then and there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaha took a minute to think, absent-mindedly stroking his goatee—oh, how Abby hated the thing. After a while, he slowly lowered his gaze onto her, an undescribable thought forming in his eyes. He looked almost scared to tell her, but amused at the same time. She realized what he was about to say at the same time he said it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That could work, but it would involve a partnership with Marcus,” Jaha said, his voice wavering a little from what Abby understood was contained laughter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, absolutely not.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The whirlwind of ideas in Abby’s head was immediately tainted with fear and anger and refusal. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to work with Kane. She didn’t, but it wasn’t about that. It was that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>work with him. He would ruin everything, he would do everything in his power to ensure the failure of her project.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t. Thelonious, I can’t. Don’t you realize he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants </span>
  </em>
  <span>British Lit to disappear?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaha chuckled to himself and looked at her with a look that spoke louder than a thousand words. She had a choice. Do everything in her power to save her job and help the college remain as multifaceted as it had always been, or throw all of that to hell for fear of working alongside Marcus Kane. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You call that a choice? Seems pretty obvious to me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was, really. She had to suck it up. The other Art professor was far more busy and far less popular than Kane was. But the man hated her just as much as she hated him, so how was it going to work? It just had to. It was her only chance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” she whispered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, what was that?” Jaha asked. Abby decided he was enjoying himself far too much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I said alright. I’ll do it. I’ll work with Kane. But only if he works with me too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knew she would regret it. She could have made a list of everything that would go wrong, but she was desperate. There was no shame in admitting it now, since the whole college was already aware of her demise. She looked at her watch and got up with a deep sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, I have to go. I’ll keep you updated as to whether Kane agreed to this or not. I’m not very hopeful, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you aren’t, Abby, but Marcus is a better man than what you make him out to be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it,” she grumbled. “Bye, Thelonious. Have a good week.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Closing the door behind her, she didn’t see Jaha shake his head with a fond smile. She probably wouldn’t have thought much of it anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her classes went by fairly smoothly that day, except for one strange occurrence with her sophomores. Each time she looked down for a few seconds or asked the students to do an exercise, she’d find Bellamy staring at her with scrutinizing eyes. It was disturbing, almost painful, to feel like not a second passed where she wasn’t being observed, so much so that, when the class ended, she couldn’t stop herself from asking the young man to stay behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it, ma’am?” Bellamy seemed curious. Either Abby had been imagining things, or he genuinely thought he was being stealthy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is something the matter?” She didn’t know how to ask what she really had on her mind without sounding completely self-absorbed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, nothing,” he said, sounding as innocent as a child. She knew him better than that, though. “How are you feeling, after this morning? You know, with my father?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s nice of you to ask, Bellamy. I’m fine. It’s not the worse either of us has done, don’t worry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy nodded. He looked like he’d had the answer to the question he’d been asking himself all class, because his gaze softened, less questioning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well then. See you around, Professor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bye.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What a strange person he could be. She wouldn’t have imagined Clarke to be friends with a boy like that, but it seemed that she still had things to learn about her daughter.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The week following his fight with Abby had gone peacefully, and Marcus was putting his Saturday to use by enjoying an afternoon stroll through Woodward Park. It had to be his favorite place in the city. Perfect for </span>
  <span>relaxation. He loved nature. He’d lived in Prue, a small town not far from Tulsa, for years. He and Aurora had saved up to buy a small house because they wanted their baby boy to grow up in the countryside. When they’d split, just after Bellamy’s tenth birthday, letting go of the house had been almost as painful as letting go of Aurora. They’d had so many memories in that house. But he’d rented another house for the next six years, persevered. Eventually, he’d grown tired of seeing his ex-girlfriend and her baby girl every time he went grocery shopping, and of driving every day to Tulsa University, not to mention he’d gotten quite depressed. He’d decided to get a flat in Tulsa, to transfer to the Ark, and give himself a second chance at life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That, to his surprise, had worked. Bellamy had moved with him, graduated high school with honors, and found his place in his International Literature class at the Ark. Life had been good to both of them, both of them had made great friends along the way, and they got along perfectly. And though Tulsa was a fairly green city, there was nothing like long walks in the parks, coffee in hand, enjoying the sun on his face. The only thing he missed at this point in life was a partner, someone to share his life with, but that wasn’t a great source of sadness for him. He wasn’t actively looking for love, and no one had caught his eye in that way yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed when his phone started ringing in his pocket, Debussy’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Clair de Lune</span>
  </em>
  <span> fitting perfectly with his surroundings. It was Bellamy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Bell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t answer my texts, dad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. I didn’t see them.” That was true. Marcus wasn’t the type of person to check his phone when he was talking a walk, and he hadn’t heard the notifications.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I give your number to Dr. Griffin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marcus stopped walking as abruptly as if he’d hit someone, almost tripping over his own feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why the hell would you want to give my number to Abby Griffin?” He hadn’t heard from the woman in a week, and now she asked his son for his number?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She asked Clarke to ask me to ask you. Apparently, it’s important.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marcus was torn. On the one hand, he could be a pain in the ass and refuse to give his number to Abby who seemingly needed it. On the other hand, he could give it to her, wait for her to contact him </span>
  <em>
    <span>then </span>
  </em>
  <span>be an even bigger pain in the ass and send her annoying texts whenever he felt like it. He decided on the latter, given that he was pretty sure Bellamy would give her his number whether he agreed to it or not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, sure. Give it to her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, dad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marcus put his phone back in his pocket. He was bewildered. Why would Abby Griffin need his number? He found that he was impatient for her to call him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t have to wait long, as his phone started ringing again a few minutes later, though this time the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Clair de Lune</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t sound as beautiful. He listened to the familiar tune, watching the Unknown Caller screen as if it were going to swallow him whole. Finally, with heavy fingers, he accepted the call.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kane. It’s Abby.” Abby’s voice was unsure, and it comforted him to think she found the situation as bizarre as he did. “Abby Griffin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, thank you, I do actually know your voice.” If she knew how much he loved it, she’d probably slap the hell out of him. “To what do I owe the honor? I thought you and I were done.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t… say ‘you and I’ like… ugh. Don’t make me say this twice,” she hesitated, unsure as he’d never heard her, “but I need your help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He held the phone close to his ear, dumbfounded. The vulnerability in her voice, like she was sure he was going to blow her off, the way he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear </span>
  </em>
  <span>her holding her breath while she waited for his answer… his heart clenched with a sentiment he couldn’t quite define, and he knew, in that instant, that he didn’t have a choice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All of their fights, all of their teasing, the way he hated her and wanted to punch her in the face after she’d come up with a particularly clever and hurtful insult, it all faded away in that instant. All he could hear was a woman he’d known for years, asking for his help, and he didn’t even consider refusing. In hindsight, he would realize that this moment had defined the rest of his life, but there was no such prophecy in his mind, just the necessity to help her in any way he could.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, Griffin. What do you need?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her sharp intake of breath indicated she was just as surprised as him by his response. She cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, her voice was back to the cold professionalism he was used to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I went to see Jaha the other day, to discuss how to save British Lit from extinction.” He listened intently. This was work-related, and he was nothing if not dedicated to his job. Even if it was a Saturday. “I’ve come up with something, and Jaha gave me his blessing for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s great!” He couldn’t hide the enthusiasm in his voice and cursed his transparent feelings. No matter how much he’d enjoyed the upper hand that Abby’s situation had given him, he’d dreaded that her subject would disappear, leading her to leave after her last classes had graduated. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>part of what made the Ark the Ark.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, thank you.” She sounded surprised. “The problem is that to lead my project to completion, I would need you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she still hadn’t told him what said project was, he wasn’t sure in what respect he could be useful, but it couldn’t be too bad. She might ask him to paint something or something else linked to art, and it wasn’t like he’d need to see her every day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me, as in…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You, as in a complete, hand-in-hand, partnership.” Oh, maybe he </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>need to see her every day. Why would she come to him for such a close association? “I need your expertise, your knowledge in art history, and your students, so don’t get any ideas as to why I’m asking you. You’re a dick, but a competent one, and even I can acknowledge that.” Insult aside, Marcus was amazed at how she seemed to read his mind. And he couldn’t deny that he felt flattered to have been deemed competent by Abby, who was quite a capable person herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Say, for argument’s sake, that I agreed.” He knew he would, he just needed to know where she was standing on certain issues. He needed to be cool-deaded and pragmatic. “What do you make of, well… us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t stand you, you can’t stand me, I count that as a common ground, a bonding opportunity if you will. The first thing we agree on. I’m sure both of us can be mature enough to put our differences aside for a few months.” Marcus knew her well enough to tell that she’d prepared this little speech. At least that showed that she’d thought this through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still. A few months. Was this a good idea? Up until two weeks ago, he’d have said Abby was the person he hated most on Earth, and even now, she still could make his blood boil in a way no one else could. Would they really be able to get past that?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” he said, his heart racing at the huge commitment he was making. “Yes, I’m in. When do we start?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As soon as possible, I would imagine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about lunch tomorrow? That way, you can tell me what you have in mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lunch?” Abby sounded perplexed. “Where?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My place?” He sounded much more confident than he felt. Abby, coming to his flat, for lunch? </span>
  <em>
    <span>That ought to be interesting.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Marcus Kane, making me lunch. I can get behind that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll text you the address.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See you tomorrow, Abby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be there at 11:30.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hung up. Marcus’ heart was racing, for entirely different reasons now. He’d invited her to have lunch with him. He’d called her by her first name. Why had he done that? </span>
  <em>
    <span>I guess she’s always been Abby to you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It wasn’t only that. Something had shifted, something he couldn’t quite place his finger on, and it had left him out of breath. He resumed walking, his mind swirling.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>On the other side of town, Clarke was also enjoying the nice weather, but down where she was, squeezed in a small alleyway, she wasn’t getting much sun. She’d heard about the street art gallery from a friend in college, Finn, who’d actually been no short of insulting it. He’d spent about ten minutes saying that the name “gallery” was insulting to “real artists”. Clarke had thought he was talking about himself, and stopped listening, but not before she asked him where exactly it was located. There was a street art gallery </span>
  <em>
    <span>in her town</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and she hadn’t visited it yet. That’s all she had to know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now she’d been there for an hour, and was only halfway through the network of small streets and brick walls. The graffiti was bigger than she was, and more colorful and intricate that she could have dreamed of. She could understand why the city had ruled that they remain in place. This was an open-sky museum. At some point during her visit, she’d even taken her sketchbook out, taking notes in drawing form.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was admiring a huge forest overlooked by a gorgeous night sky, galaxy and all, when she felt a presence behind her. She turned around, realizing that there had been an open alley behind her for the whole time she’d been observing the forest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?” she called out, not expecting much. Still, she was positive that someone had been standing there, watching her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A chill crept up her spine, and she shuddered. She was suddenly very aware of how alone she was, and how far from home. She added a few notes to her sketch, and left in the direction of the nearest bus stop. As beautiful and impressive as the gallery was, she wasn’t in the mood to get mugged.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Abby and Marcus prepare for their lunch together. When Abby arrives at Marcus’ place, things don’t go as expected.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marcus woke up early the following day. Not because he was nervous, because he wasn’t, but because he had a lot of things to get done before Abby got there, including but not limited to finishing the tidying of his apartment, and taking a trip to the grocery shop. He wanted to make pistou soup for Abby, a southern French recipe that he’d gotten from his mother.</p><p>He was aware that he was overdoing it, that he’d be in the kitchen for a long while, and that Abby was only coming to speak business, but there was a nagging need in him to impress her. Now that they had taken their relationship out of college, he knew the rivalry would be even fiercer.</p><p>He was stretching, trying to muster up the strength to leave the comforting warmth of his bed, when his phone chimed.</p><p>New message from: Abby Griffin.</p><p>
  <b>I’m bringing the dessert. See you later? - Abby</b>
</p><p>Why the hell was <em> she </em>up so early? He rubbed his eyes groggily, the blue light blinding him slightly.</p><p>
  <b> <em>Thanks for the dessert. Why are you up? M.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Back from my morning run, not that it’s any of your business.</b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>You run?</em> </b>
</p><p>Maybe it was the early time of day, maybe it was the perspective of seeing her in only a few hours, but he couldn’t stop himself from talking to her. Texting her, nonetheless. It felt weirdly… intimate.</p><p>
  <b>Once a week at least. You don’t?</b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>No. Never have.</em> </b>
</p><p>There was no answer for a while, and that gave Marcus time to think. Unfortunately, the image that invaded his mind was Abby’s fit body in tight running clothes, and his foggy brain decided that this was a good daydream to get lost in. He got out of bed with a tired groan, deliberately ignoring the fact that he was now half-hard. He would not let himself be aroused by Abby Griffin. As he walked to the kitchen, his phone chimed again.</p><p>New message from: Abby Griffin.</p><p>
  <b>Did you just wake up?</b>
</p><p>He could <em> hear </em>her disappointed tone. He’d been on the receiving end of it often enough.</p><p>
  <b> <em>No.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>I don’t believe you.</b>
</p><p>He let out a chuckle. Of course she’d see right through him. </p><p>
  <b> <em>It’s true!</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Sure.</b>
</p><p>He was fully grinning now, and had to stop himself. He was playing a dangerous game, texting Abby Griffin, laughing because of something she’d said. This was not how their relationship worked, and he had to be careful not to let himself believe that they could be anything more than civil colleagues. She was infuriating, and she hated him. Not a very good basis for a friendship.</p><p>
  <b> <em>See you later, Abby.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Bye.</b>
</p><p>He locked his phone, but a second text followed suit.</p><p>
  <b>Marcus :)</b>
</p><p>He smiled again, unable to stop fondness from spreading through him.</p>
<hr/><p>Abby was dashing through the woods, about a mile away from home when the thought popped in her head: she could bring dessert to Kane’s later. It could be an olive branch of sorts, and he wouldn’t be able to complain that he’d done all the work. She texted him once she was home, half expecting him not to answer for an hour or two.</p><p>
  <b> <em>I’m bringing the dessert. See you later? - Abby</em> </b>
</p><p>She wasn’t the type to show up somewhere without checking at least twice that the meeting was still on. Kane was operational too, it seemed, and his reply came in under a minute.</p><p>
  <b>Thanks for the dessert. Why are you up? M.</b>
</p><p>Why was <em> he </em>up? Maybe he ran too, she thought. It would explain that he looked like… that. If he was a runner, it would entail a whole lot of complications, because they’d have a hobby in common, something to talk about. And now she rather hoped he ran.</p><p>
  <b> <em>Back from my morning run, not that it’s any of your business.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Can’t be too friendly, can you, Griffin? </em>
</p><p>
  <b>You run?</b>
</p><p>What was he playing at? They’d never done anything even remotely close to a casual chat, and certainly not via text. So why was he now asking her about what she did or didn’t do?</p><p>
  <b> <em>Once a week, at least. You don’t?</em> </b>
</p><p>If he wanted small talk, she’d give him small talk. Not to mention she was genuinely curious.</p><p>
  <b>No. Never have.</b>
</p><p>Oh. Well, that was that. How did she reply to that? She found herself quite disappointed that she’d have to find something else in common with him, it would have made it easier to strike up a friendly conversation. She was disappointed for another reason, though to this one she would never admit out loud. She’d painted quite the picture in her mind, of a sweaty Marcus Kane, his muscles tense because of the effort, his thick legs carrying him with ease. A familiar pool of warmth churned low in her belly, and she bit her lip. Clarke had left earlier than her, to join Bellamy on a hike, and she had the house to herself.  All she had to do was drop her hand between her legs and... </p><p>No. She held onto her phone with both hands, clutching it tighter than she probably should. She didn’t care. She would not let herself be aroused by Kane, and she would certainly <em> not </em>touch herself to the thought of him.</p><p>
  <b> <em>Did you just wake up?</em> </b>
</p><p>She sent the text with shaky fingers, alarmed by the overwhelming reaction her body was having to this newfound relationship. She was starting to hope, for her own good, that the change in their relationship would not mean that they did that often, because if they did, she knew she’d give in eventually. And that was not to happen, under any circumstances.</p><p>
  <b>No.</b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>I don’t believe you.</em> </b>
</p><p>Maybe he was telling the truth, but she wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to tease him.</p><p>
  <b>It’s true!</b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Sure.</em> </b>
</p><p>She let a warm laugh slip from her throat and put a hand over her mouth. What was happening? <em> Please stop texting me. Please don’t. </em></p><p>
  <b>See you later, Abby.</b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Bye.</em> </b>
</p><p>He’d called her by her first name, for the second time in two days. She had yet to return the favor. She decided that if she couldn’t do it via text, she never would be able to do it out. She typed quickly and hit send before she could talk herself out of it.</p><p>
  <b> <em>Marcus :)</em> </b>
</p><p>She set her phone on silent and rushed to the shower, finding herself in dire need of some cool water.</p>
<hr/><p>The grocery store was full of people who, like Marcus, hadn’t planned ahead for their family Sunday lunch. Except that he wasn’t having lunch with his family, but with his sworn enemy, and that he hadn’t planned ahead because said lunch was the result of an impulsive proposal he hadn’t even expected would be accepted.</p><p>He picked up some garlic, a few leeks and carrots, a bouquet of fresh basil and parsley, and a block of Parmesan cheese—he had everything else at home. He headed towards a clerk for his final purchase. He’d settled his internal debate of whether or not he should buy wine by ruling that French soup called for red wine. It was part of the landscape the dish painted in your mouth and in your mind.</p><p>“Excuse me, hi.”</p><p>“Hi.” The young woman, whose name was—according to her nametag—Luna, smiled warmly at him.</p><p>“I know this probably isn’t your area of expertise, but would you be able to give me a wine recommendation?”</p><p>“Ah, but you judged too quickly!” Her eyes were sparkling with laughter, but he could see there was a deep sadness in there too. He listened to her, interested. “I’m actually quite good at wine. What are you looking for?” They headed towards the alcohol aisle.</p><p>“French. Red.” He was far from knowing what would even go well with his soup.</p><p>“Well, we have this Bandol.” Luna looked pensive as she grabbed hold of the bottle. “I’d recommend it. If I remember well, it’s especially recommended with that soup that they have, what’s it called… pesto soup maybe?”</p><p>“Pistou soup?” Marcus asked, surprised. “That’s exactly what I’m making!”</p><p>“Oh, lucky her! I had it once, and it was delicious. Well, yeah, this would be the bottle for you, then.”</p><p>What did she mean, “lucky her”?</p><p>Oh.</p><p>She probably thought this was for a date. Marcus guessed this was essentially it. There were two individuals, one of them cooking for the other, the other bringing dessert, and there was red wine. It did sound an awful lot like a date. He didn’t want someone to go about their life thinking he was dating Abby Griffin, though.</p><p>“Oh, it’s just a business lunch. She and I don’t even really get along.” He laughed nervously, because that, as of the last twenty-four hours, was a lie.</p>
<hr/><p>“Turn left onto South Trenton Avenue” Abby’s GPS ordered, and she followed obediently. “Your destination is on the left.”</p><p>There was a parking spot right in front of the building Kane had indicated in the address, and Abby thanked her lucky star. She really wasn’t in the mood to drive around, looking for a free spot. Especially since it was 11:25 and she’d said she’d be there at 11:30.</p><p>Her car was filled with the delicious smell of the apple pie she’d spent the better part of her morning making, and it calmed her nerves considerably. She didn’t know what to expect. She’d never imagined that someday, she’d be downstairs from Marcus Kane’s apartment, trying to find the courage to get out of her car and bring him a pie she’d made for him. Talk about surreal.</p><p>She took a deep breath, grabbed the wicker basket she’d deposited the pie in—“how grandmotherly of you” Clarke had said when she’d sent her a picture. She got out of her car, locked it, and crossed the street without looking up. In the event that Kane had a balcony and was watching her, she wanted to keep a little dignity.</p><p>She rang the doorbell and heard a static-ridden “Abby, is that you?” coming from the intercom. </p><p>“Why, are you waiting for many other people?” she replied sarcastically. He buzzed her in, but she could have sworn she heard him chuckle as he did it. She pushed the heavy brass door, thanking Marcus as she entered the building, though she wasn’t sure whether he’d hear or not.</p><p>The lobby was nice and tidy, though quite impersonal. She went to the elevator, thanked God that it was empty, and pressed the button indicating “5”. She didn’t know how, but Kane could afford a penthouse in a nice neighborhood. Good for him. At least she’d have something to look at other than him during their meal. <em> Not that you will, mind you. </em></p><p>The elevator came to a smooth halt with a clear <em> Ding! </em> that reminded her of old elevators in old movies, filled with old people. All things considered, this wasn’t what she’d imagined for Marcus Kane. She stepped out of the elevator, into another, smaller lobby. This one looked more lived-in than the other had, with an umbrella stand a coat rack. She recognized Kane’s two signature jackets, the faux-leather one he wore in the fall and spring, and his navy wool trench coat that he wore when days got colder. She’d always loved that coat.</p><p>With yet another deep breath, she rang the doorbell. The chime was delicate—yet another surprise—and almost immediately followed by the sound of steps on floorboards, and the door opening.</p><p>Abby was taken aback. He was wearing a black woolen sweater that clung to his chest, his hair was more unruly than she’d ever seen it, and he was sporting a light stubble. He looked lovely. Stunning. His cologne was rich and masculine, but delicate, almost flowery, and she found herself wishing she could get closer to him. She realized she’d been staring and cleared her throat, extending her hand for him to shake it.</p><p>“Hello, Marcus.” It was weird. Not only to call him Marcus, but also to see him without the intrinsic need to insult him. She’d shed that as easily as a snake sheds its old skin, apparently. She was tense, nervous, she felt out of place, but because of circumstances, not because of him.</p><p>“Hi, Abby.” He shook her hand with a warm smile, though she could see he felt as uneasy as she did. Maybe more, given that he was about to let her into his home. “Here, let me take this.” He took her basket from her and gestured for her to leave her coat on the rack, which she did. That also felt weird.</p><p>As she set foot in the apartment, she noted it was the closest thing to a loft one could own without it actually being a loft. The kitchen and the living room were the same long room, and though the space was not colossal, the lack of walls and boundaries made it seem that much larger, not to mention the huge windows that let in the warm, end-of-summer, sun.</p><p>She looked around her, fully conscious that she was awkwardly silent, but this place was nothing like she’d imagined it to be. The walls were painted in deep turquoise, and the decorations seemed to come from all over the world. There was an Indian shawl spread over the large couch, a snow globe collection over the fireplace—he had a fireplace!—and a guitar in the corner. Towering over the living room was a huge oak cabinet. The wall behind her, she realized as she turned around, was covered in framed photos of Kane and Bellamy. Right. This was also Bellamy’s home.</p><p>“So, welcome to the Kane residence,” Kane said with another encouraging smile. “I’m taking it you approve of my interior design skills?”</p><p>“Well, I can’t believe I’m about to say that, but I do. This is very cozy.” Abby finally smiled back. This was harder for both of them than they’d have cared to explain. The absence of hostility. “It smells delicious, too. What are you making me?”</p><p>Kane’s eyes twinkled with delight, and Abby was glad she’d taken the compliment road. Of course it worked on a man like him. He took her over to the kitchen island and proudly lifted the lid. Abby peeked inside, to see a strange assortment of vegetables simmering in water merrily. Well, she had no idea what <em> that </em>was.</p><p>“It’s pistou soup,” Kane said, bringing her attention back to him. “It’s French, from the south of France. It’s a somewhat peasant dish, but it’s delicious.”</p><p>She looked at him, amazed. A soup from the south of France. Was he always this full of surprises, or was he trying really hard?</p><p>“I can tell from the smell that you brought an apple pie—an old favorite of mine, so I have to thank you.” </p><p>Everything was awkward. God, she didn’t know where to stand, how to stand, how to look at him… It was a much more complicated affair than she’d thought it would be.</p><p>“No, thank <em> you </em>. Thank you for accepting to help me without even knowing what it was about. I frankly didn’t expect that from you. And thank you for that weird thing you’re boiling there. I’m sure it’ll be great.”</p><p>Kane smiled at her and nodded, before seemingly remembering something and grabbing something from inside the kitchen island. A bottle of wine? <em> And you thought things were weird before? </em> Seeing her abrasive glare, he was quick to explain himself.</p><p>“See, I was at the grocery store, and I thought: you can’t have French soup with no red wine. The French would try to invade us. Again.”</p>
<hr/><p>Abby laughed at his joke, which made Marcus feel better about the wine. He tried not to get annoyed or embarrassed by her awkwardness. He’d hoped she’d be at ease in the face of adversity, just like she always seemed to be, but he realized now that she was no more perfect in that respect than he was.</p><p>He poured them both a glass of wine, and pulled her a stool at the kitchen island. She sat with a whispered “thank you”. He liked that. He liked having her in his kitchen, and he couldn’t quite understand why.</p><p>“So. Do you want to get to it?” he offered. “I’m not done with the soup yet, and I know you’re not here for fun.”</p><p>It was a truth he found himself saddened by, but a truth nonetheless. Abby wasn’t there to play friends, and he knew she needed to do whatever she could to save her subject, so he was determined not to slow her down.</p><p>“Well, yeah. We should get started.” Her voice was small, shy, again, and Marcus understood that she wasn’t feeling great about the whole thing. He got that. He probably wouldn’t feel terrific either if he had to ask her for help. “So, Jaha and I were talking about what we could do to make some noise with British Lit, and I figured we could hold an event at the Ark.” Marcus nodded from above his pot, letting her know he was listening. He’d been expecting something along those lines. “There would be two sorts of… performances, let’s say. First, and the thing I’ll mainly be doing on my own, would be conferences.” Another nod. Conferences were always efficient when it came to recruiting students, he knew that from experience, and he was confident that Abby would come up with some fascinating stuff. “And then, the thing I need you for, as long as you’re on board, would be an Expo. We’d turn the Ark into a museum, an ode to arts. The main feature would be British Lit, but then in each teacher’s room, you’d have associated stuff. It’d lead people to walk through campus, so it’d give publicity to all subjects, really.”</p><p>Marcus noted with a tinge of sadness that she was trying really hard not to make it seem like a selfish project. So far, he was in. It sounded like a classic art project, one every type of school held at one point or another. He could do that, and do it well. He’d get the students to participate for extra credit, and it would go fine. Abby looked at him expectantly, while he stirred his soup, lost in thought.</p><p>“So? What do you think?” She was asking for his approval. Interesting.</p><p>“Oh, it’s perfectly feasible,” he said, putting the lid back on the pot. He got out what he needed for the pistou, as well as his marble mortar and pestle. A gift from his mother, just like most of his kitchen utensils. She insisted that he use artisanal and good quality equipment, and to make sure that he did, regularly gifted him things she found here and there. Thus the marble mortar and pestle, that had cost a fortune, and that Abby was now eyeing admiratively. “I’m sure the students will appreciate having a project,” he added, “and I have plenty of free time this year.”</p><p>“You always have plenty of free time,” Abby teased. She was right, so he let it slide with a knowing smile, and started preparing his pistou. “What are you doing right now?” she asked.</p>
<hr/><p>Half of her was genuinely curious, the other half desperately needed a distraction from Marcus’ pushed back sleeves revealing his muscular forearms as he squashed basil, parsley, garlic, and olive oil together in the beautiful mortar he’d made appear out of nowhere. Who had a <em> marble </em>mortar? As mysterious as the mixture was to her, she observed intently. He worked slowly and steadily, his hand twisting the pestle against the curve of the bowl, and she felt a flush spread across her chest.</p>
<hr/><p>Abby was shifting on her chair, and Marcus got the feeling that he wasn’t the only one who sensed the accidental erotism of what he was doing. Now he wished he’d done it before she’d arrived.</p><p>“Well, that’s the pistou, the sauce that gives its name to the dish.” His voice had dropped an octave lower than it usually was and he cursed himself, clearing his throat before continuing. “You put it directly in your plate so it doesn’t cook.”</p><p>Abby nodded with a hum, and they stayed in silence for a while, Marcus working away and Abby sipping her wine. They kept stealing glances at each other, their eyes meeting now and again. At some point, halfway through Abby’s glass, neither of them looked away, and they stood there, staring at each other, none of the two wanting to end the moment.</p><p>“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” Marcus let out after a while. “Not wanting to gut each other.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Abby was the one to break eye contact when she got up to stand by the window, looking out to the city. “Who would’ve known, right?”</p><p>The unspoken truth hung heavy in the air; it would be a while before the wounds that four years of open war had inflicted would heal. They’d created insecurities in each other, insulted each other more often than they’d even greeted each other, and that wouldn’t disappear with a bit of wine and an apple pie.</p><p>“Soup’s ready, Abby,” Marcus said when the silence became unbearable. “I’ll set the table.”</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I set up a Twitter account (https://twitter.com/uponanightsky), if you wanna come have a chat or if you want to keep up to date with what I'm writing and reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Marcus and Abby eat, drink a bit of wine, and their afternoon goes way off course.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“So… you run?” Marcus asked while he was filling their plates.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby smiled, grateful for his efforts to keep the conversation light. She was feeling quite down, as everything she thought she knew was currently balancing on a tightrope. Marcus was apparently a considerate, kind, funny man, and not the asshole she’d thought him to be. Still, she hadn’t been alone in her feud, so what had she done to earn his rage?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do. I started last January as a New Year’s resolution, and never stopped.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m impressed. I’ve never been able to keep to a resolution.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That surprises me. See, I’d always thought you were quite strong-willed,” she confessed. “May I dig in? This smells heavenly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, but you may not.” He grated what Abby identified as Parmesan cheese on top of their soup, then handed her the now-liquefied pistou. “You put that in there, and then you may taste what might be my favorite French recipe of all time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked so pleased with himself and proud that Abby didn’t have the heart to complain about his bossiness. She did as she was told, and, once her plate was ready and Marcus gave her a nod of approval, she brought a spoonful up to her lips. She was nervous that she wouldn’t like it, he’d spent so much time on it. As she closed her mouth around her spoon, though, she knew that all her worries had been in vain. It was delicious. She felt transported to memories that weren’t hers, of a grandmother in the countryside that ruffled her hair when she’d come home from playing in the fields. It tasted like home, like family… her heart swelled. She didn’t think a soup could make her feel so many things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love it, Marcus,” she said, smiling warmly at him.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>He’d never seen her smile so broadly, or so genuinely, and never would he have thought that he’d first see it directed at him. It made him warm inside and made his stomach flutter with things he hadn’t felt in a long time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would have stopped himself, he would have argued with those unrequited butterflies, but she was sitting there, across from him, her hair cascading over her shoulders, her golden eyes shining softly in the sunlight, and she was looking at him with what? Affection? This day was going wildly differently to what he’d imagined.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, Abby. I tried.” He winked at her, almost immediately regretting it, but her smile grew wider as she winked right back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She took another sip of soup and a strand of hair fell in her face. She didn’t seem to mind and didn’t make a move to remove it, so he took a chance and leaned forward. He brushed the strand back behind her ear, as delicately as he could muster. The look in her eyes was to die for—and probably matched his own. She looked surprised, but her gaze was blown with yearning. He realized with pleasure that it wasn’t the first time she’d looked at him like that. Though it usually came before an enthusiastic insult, and none of these seemed to be headed his way now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re playing a dangerous game, Kane,” Abby breathed out. Her voice was low in her throat and sent ripples of desire through him. What was happening to them? Was this what they were once they removed the conflict from their relationship? Her words echoed his own earlier thoughts. A dangerous game.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He supposed that was exactly what was going on. The dragon was asleep now, but what would happen if it woke up? The thought of it alone took all ideas of lust far away from him. What was he thinking? There was no use at all getting attached to Abby Griffin. They were fundamentally different, they got along about just as well as oil and water did. This Sunday lunch was a sunny spell in the thunderstorm that was their relationship, and he had to be careful to make no mistake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wondered for a minute if he should share his thoughts with Abby, but decided against it. They didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>sharing feelings, and she probably felt the same anyway, it was easily read in her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry. Don’t know what got into me.” That was a lie. He knew perfectly well. He wanted her, and it went far beyond physical attraction. But never in a thousand years was he telling Abby that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“An angel passed, surely.” Her tone was light, and he humored her by chuckling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of their meal went by in silence, though it was a surprisingly comfortable one. It helped that Abby seemed to really be enjoying his soup. Seeing her appreciate something he’d spent time making delighted him somehow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the time came for dessert, they’d almost drunk the whole bottle of wine, and Marcus felt a slight buzz at the tip of his fingers while he cut the apple pie. He wasn’t drunk, but he definitely wasn’t sober either. He never drank alcohol anymore, simply because he rarely had the occasion to, and when he had, he had to drive home so he didn’t drink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could tell Abby was in roughly the same state he was, as she’d been staring at him longingly since he’d got up to put their plates in the sink. His resolve was slowly fading away, but he was determined that nothing would happen. They both wanted to, that much was clear as day, but it was their bodies talking, and their minds would regret it as soon as it happened. He knew that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They ate their pie in silence, except for Marcus expressing his love of the thing. Abby was a talented baker. He wondered if she was as good as he was at savoury stuff. He knew he sucked at desserts. That pie made him want to try again, though. The crust was perfectly baked, crunchy but not stiff, and same went for the apples. He was used to apples pies where the apple slices were overbaked, but on this once, they were barely baked, leaving them almost as firm as actual apples, and there was a layer of mashed apples underneath that tasted like heaven. After consideration, he set down his fork and swallowed his bite, before looking Abby in the eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is, easily, the best apple pie I’ve ever had,” he started, his stomach doing a very unwanted somersault when his words made Abby’s face light up. “And, if you’d like, since we’re going to spend a lot of time together…” She was now listening to him like she perhaps never had before. “Maybe you could teach me?”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Teach him? Abby had genuinely thought he was going to ask her to make him more, which she was getting ready to blow off, because “I’m not your baking slave, Marcus.” But he wanted her to teach him. Maybe Abby was reading too much into it, but it touched her that he thought her worthy of teaching, especially teaching him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, maybe I could,” she said with a smile as she poured them both the last glass of wine their bottle had to offer. “But do you deserve it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had avoided any type of teasing since Kane had tucked her hair behind her ear—a gesture that had left her both speech and breathless—but the wine and the warmth and their newfound amicability made her want to push him a little. Find the barrier between Marcus and Kane, or find the breaking point where he replaced his hungry eyes with his hands. Both would satisfy her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I probably don’t, in your eyes.” Marcus looked like he meant what he was saying, and while Abby understood where he was coming from, she didn’t like it one bit. Her brow furrowed and she was about to protest when Marcus made eye contact once again. He really liked doing that, it seemed. She wasn’t complaining. It helped keep her centered. “But I’m hoping I might redeem myself?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure you will.” She meant every word of it. She’d seen the man Jaha was telling her about, and a switched had been flipped in her brain. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It won’t last. You’ll wake up tomorrow morning and hate him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That might be true, so she wanted to enjoy his presence for as long as she could. She could see the road ahead and knew it was a tortuous and arduous one, but that had been clear from the moment she’d set foot in his apartment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I could make you some more French dishes, and you could teach me how to bake in return.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How strange. How strange that not a week before, she’d said they’d never speak again, and now they were planning for the future. Their future, as friends and partners.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you only know French stuff?” she joked, curious as to why he was so adamant that he should only serve her French cuisine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, no. I know plenty of other things, but anything French is automatically better. They </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>the country of gastronomy, after all. Besides, all the recipes my mother gives me are French.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A mama’s boy? Now, that was both unexpected and completely logical.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is she French?” Abby craved to know about the woman who’d raised him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Her father was. He was a chef, traveled to Scotland for work, and he met my grandmother. They had my mother and her brother. My mom went to America to study. My father was an Italian journalist in New York, but he was out of the picture pretty quickly. America wasn’t working for him, so he divorced my mother, flew back to Italy and married a singer! Talk about clichés.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby smiled. It was very cliché indeed, but she was fascinated to learn that Marcus was the product of so many cultures. No wonder he’d gotten into history, even if it was through the arts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A French chef, an Italian ass who married a singer, and traveling to America to study as if it was any better than anywhere else. Yep, that’ll produce the best cliché of all: the massive jerk who’s actually a soft-hearted cook.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’d be me,” Marcus laughed. He looked good when he smiled. He has an incredibly peaceful energy, which Abby liked immensely. She felt relaxed around him—though maybe that was the wine helping.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>“Abby?” Marcus asked when everything had been put away, and they had moved to the couch, where they’d sat purposedly at the opposite ends. He was glad to know that she had the same reserve as he did. They were responsible adults. She gave him an interrogating hum, and he swallowed. He wasn’t sure this was going to go down well. “Do you think we’ll ever get past… everything?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby sighed, like she’d been dreading this conversation. She sat up but turned slightly away from him to face the fireplace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know.” He knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t done, so he waited for the other shoe to drop. “A part of me wishes we could, but… Four years, Marcus.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew what she meant, and he didn’t want to push her, but he felt no short of desperate. Now that he’d had a taste of what they could be, the last thing he wanted was to be forced to go back to what they’d been. He knew he didn’t have it in him to chuck a single insult her way now, and he hoped she didn’t either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tried to come up with something to say. Something that would encourage her to feel the way he was feeling, but without betraying anything. In the end, what came out was: “Do you want some whiskey?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby’s startled eyes would have been comical if he hadn’t been so horrified by his own words. The wine had had more effect than he’d previously thought. It was 2 p.m., what was he thinking? But then Abby’s lips broke into a childish grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell, bring it on, Kane.” Her eyes had found their mischievous sparkle again, and his stomach fluttered. What a beautiful woman she was. “Though I have to admit I haven’t drunk anything strong in maybe four or five years.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s alright.” Marcus got up and went back to the kitchen, rummaging through his dozen of bottles of various oils and vinegars. When he found the bottle he was looking for, he went back to Abby with a triumphant smile. “Neither have I.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He fetched them two glasses and noticed that Abby was yet again admiring his equipment. He guessed they were beautiful, they were old and it showed but the intricate design carved into their surface was delicate and skilled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I found them at a flea market back in Prue, years back. You like them?” he asked, just because hearing Abby compliment his apartment never got old.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do, very much. You lived in Prue?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, for a while. That’s where I had Bellamy.” He obviously hadn’t had Bellamy alone, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk about Aurora. And he knew Abby wouldn’t ask, because talking about his ex meant talking about her husband.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marcus knew the story. Of course he did, everybody did. Jake Griffin, Tulsa’s favorite mechanic, who’d died tragically three years before Marcus’ arrival. He didn’t know how Jake had died, as no one had told him and he’d been too polite to ask, but he knew that his widow and daughter had been very brave in the face of grief. That’s what everyone had told him, and then he’d met Abby; she was not the bereaved woman he’d expected to meet. She was fierce and happy. But immediately, they’d clashed, and he’d never gotten the chance to get to know her. Not that he’d wanted to. But now he did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How does a New York man end up in Prue? This place is so tiny!” She looked almost offended, which made him chuckle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We wanted to work in Tulsa, and we looked for the nearest small town,” he said with a shrug. “Have you always lived here?”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Abby took the glass of whiskey Marcus handed to her and nodded with a hum. She’d lived in Tulsa since she was a little girl, and she would probably grow old there. Not the most exciting life, but she’d never been much of a traveler. Marcus filled his own glass and raised it high.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cheers to us, Abby Griffin. May the future be stronger than the past.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll drink to that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t want to sip it, because if she did, she’d never finish it. She wasn’t much of a spirit person. She threw her head back and downed the amber liquor. The fire in her throat took her back to her teenage years and the nights of underage drinking she’d indulged in. The only thing missing was the awful aftertaste she’d never really gotten used to. She waited for it to arrive, but when it didn’t, she opened her eyes again, to find a horrified Marcus staring at her, mouth gaping. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you just down this very expensive, very delicious, forty-year-old whiskey?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby burst into laughter. Apparently, yes, she had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, why not,” he sighed, downing his glass almost as quickly as she had.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An hour and two other glasses later—they’d sipped those ones, Abby claiming she’d never tasted anything closer to ambrosia—and they’d run out of ways to talk about their respective pasts without getting into personal details, so they were nursing their drinks silently. Abby didn’t want to drink anything else ever again, though she reconsidered that when Marcus told her how much this bottle had cost.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My mom gifted it to me for my fortieth birthday, but I’d never had anyone to share it with. No one who was worth it, you know,” he explained, slurring his words slightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby looked at him fondly. He thought she was worth his very expensive, very delicious, forty-year-old whiskey. That was quite the compliment. A yawn made its way up her throat and she let it out, struggling to keep it discreet. She was exhausted, she realized.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m getting a bit sleepy,” she said with another small yawn that made Marcus yawn too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That would be the whiskey.” Marcus laughed softly. “Do you want to put a movie on? Or a show?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby looked up at the huge TV in front of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, we have to talk about the Expo.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, I have to get home.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, I-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure. Why not,” she heard herself say.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Marcus woke up as the ending credits started rolling. His impromptu nap had made him so drowsy that he didn’t immediately question the weight he felt on his lap—after a good ten seconds, though, he realized there was a sleeping Abby Griffin curled up on his couch, her head resting on his thighs. The sight woke him up as effectively as a bucket of cold water would have. This </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>be. They couldn’t do this sort of thing, not after everything they’d said. And yet, there she was, snoring softly, sound asleep, and all he could feel was overwhelming affection. Why was that?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What should I do?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He could wake her up and walk her out, but they’d drunk a lot and the alcohol was still in her system. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her, or to force her to drive in her state. He could always leave her to finish her night on the couch, but it felt wrong. Especially since a few of his friends who’s slept on the thing had cursed it for ruining their backs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a minute of silent debating, he decided that he’d get up and carry her to his bed. He hoped she wouldn’t wake up, he knew she’d demand he let her go home, put up a fight. And he definitely wasn’t in the mood to fight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced at the clock over the fireplace. It was only a little past 5. Abby must have been exhausted if she was able to sleep so well so early. How on earth she’d ended up in her position, however, he couldn’t explain. He lifted her head gently, careful not to let his watch get caught in her hair, and slipped out from under her, swiftly placing a cushion in his place.  He headed to his bedroom to check everything was in order, which it thankfully was. He’d had the enlightened premonition to tidy and clean it a few days before, and he’d only slept in those sheets twice. That would have to do, especially since Abby was only staying for the one night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In spite of himself, he felt irritation bubble deep in his chest, at Abby and at him. They’d had a fun day, and Marcus was happy to have had that opportunity, but they’d been foolish, irresponsible. They both had classes in the morning, and it was clear they’d both be quite hungover. He could already feel the old but familiar ache in his temples starting to form. He shook his head, trying to be rational. What was done was done, and he’d have enough time to be mad in the morning, once they both had rested minds and full stomachs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought of making Abby his famous hangover pancakes cheered him up a bit. He usually made them for Bellamy, and knew they worked wonders, but had never tested them out himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Trust Abby Griffin to be the cause of your first hangover in years.</span>
  </em>
  <span> In the morning, he’d be in the kitchen for her… again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He went back to the main room and looked down at the couch and the gorgeous, clever woman who’d deemed it safe enough to let herself fall asleep in it. In other circumstances, he could have been madly in love with her. But in this realm, she was his pain-in-the-ass colleague. Who he liked having lunch with, apparently. And drinking whiskey. The memory of her head resting in his lap was too fresh for him to deny that he felt something for her. Of course he did. They’d known each other for years, and they were close, even if that closeness was brought about by hatred.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck you, Griffin,” he said. Weakly. It felt wrong. Once she was stripped of all her aggressivity, she was just a normal person. And to think that it had only taken her two days to turn his mind around like that. What a mess they were.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took a deep breath and scooped her up in his arms. Her head lulled against his chest and she sighed softly, a shadow of a smile playing at her lips. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, she’s beautiful.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He walked to the bedroom and lowered her onto the bed, adjusting her limbs so she wouldn’t get cramps. That was the last thing she needed, with the state she would be in in the morning. He pulled the blanket over her and, something he wasn’t sure he knew tugging at his soul, he placed the most delicate kiss on her forehead. His lips barely brushed her skin, and still, his heart skipped several beats. What was she doing to him?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked away from the bed, and hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He felt reluctant to leave her, somehow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sweet dreams, Abby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was about to close the door behind him when he heard Abby’s voice coming from the darkness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kane…” Her alcohol-filled brain had reverted back to the way she used to call him, but her voice was so soft, so vulnerable, that his last name had never sounded so sweet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” he said, turning back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay.” She’d meant it to be an order, he could tell, but it had come out as the most charming proposition Marcus had ever been made. Fortunately, he believed himself to be less drunk than she was, which allowed him to stay sensible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Abby, you’re drunk. I’ll be on the couch if you need me. Sleep well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> He closed the door before she could get the chance to argue, hoping she was too tired to follow.</span>
</p>
<p><span>He got himself an old blanket from the drawers under his cabinet and shed his jeans and sweater, folding them neatly on the coffee table. Laying on the couch, he settled for the night, breathing in the ghost of Abby’s perfume that lingered there</span>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Abby deals with the aftermath of her excesses. Clarke meets an artist, and everyone thinks she’s gone missing.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Abby woke up with a start, and sat up in an unfamiliar bed. Her breath was ragged, and there was a pounding in her head that forced her to close her eyes for a minute. When she opened them again, she was grateful that the sun hadn’t risen yet, because she was sure her brain would have imploded if she’d had to face the morning light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room was dark, but the orange glow of public lighting that came in through the window allowed her to make out what was around her—as if the smell hadn’t given it away. This was Kane’s room. His cologne hung in the air, but it wasn’t just that. It smelled like him. Shame set itself in her stomach, along with a nausea that she blamed the whiskey for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d let herself go too far. She’d lost control, and she could only be grateful that Kane was a decent man, because she remembered the way she’d asked him to stay. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why did you do that?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Her longing had accompanied her into her slumber, and she’d spent the night half-expecting him to come crawl into bed with her. She’d spent the night </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanting </span>
  </em>
  <span>him to come crawl into bed with her. Craving him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pounding in her head was soon echoed by the pounding of her heart, and her fists grabbed the blanket hard enough that they started to hurt. Her eyes were burning from tears that she refused to spill, and her guts were knotted. Was that who she was? Drinking in the afternoon, nearly begging for a man to sleep with her? What had gotten into her?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Once her tears had surrendered and disappeared, and she had managed to calm her breathing down to a normal rhythm—almost—she found that there was only one thing she wanted. Pouring it all out on Kane. Make her feel the way she felt, and then leave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She got up and opened the door with as much determination as she could and prepared herself to face him. A tiny voice at the back of her head was screaming at her that he’d done nothing wrong—quite the contrary, actually. But that unbearable truth only made her angrier.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She walked through the kitchen, eyeing their dirty dishes in the sink, her blazer that she’d thrown over her stool when they’d moved to the couch. She grabbed it and slipped it on, and grabbed her handbag that lay discarded on the floor. She could see traces of their day everywhere, and it made her sick. She’d never be able to take it back. What she could do, however, was get the hell out of there and never come back.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Snow is falling onto the yard, as it’s done for the past two days now, and there’s a thick blanket of white covering every rose bush and every Christmas decoration. Marcus forces himself to look away when he hears the coffeemaker whistle—he loves snow, always has, but what he loves even more is unburnt coffee. He takes it off of the stove and pours it into the two matching mugs that lay on the coffee table.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Honey, coffee’s ready!” he shouts in the general direction of their second floor.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When Abby appears in the stairs, dressed in her holidays dressing gown, Marcus feels an overwhelming affection invading his heart. She jogs down the stairs and up to him, taking him in his arms with a contented sigh. When she looks up at him, her eyes full of this unbridled adoration that never fails to make him feel small, he captures her lips with his, holding her tight against him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kane!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes opened, and the darkness overwhelmed him. His dream had been so bright, and warm, but real life was dark and bleak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kane, wake up!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right. Abby. He looked up at her with a smile, but his eyes were met by Abby’s furious ones. Furious? A flush crept up his neck at the vivid memory of his dream. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” he grumbled. He was far too tired for anything that wasn’t sleep, but she seemed hell-bent on waking him up. “Bathroom’s to the right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m leaving.” Right. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He sat up with a start. She couldn’t leave. Why did she want to leave? He searched her eyes, confusion painted all over his face, and he could have sworn a flash of softness crossed her eyes before they met his harshly. “This won’t work. You and I… I can’t do this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And with that, she marched out of the room, slamming the front door behind her. A few seconds later, he heard the tell-tale echo of footsteps in the staircase. She hadn’t taken the elevator. Was she that desperate to get away from him? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seems so.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He grabbed his phone, opened his contact, and tapped her name with all his might.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Abby turned on the ignition and drove away as fast as she could. She was furious. Worse than that. She felt betrayed. She felt hurt. She wished the alcohol would have stolen her memories but they were all there, dancing behind her eyelids. Taunting her. The way he’d picked her up as delicately as if she’d been a precious and delicate thing. His chest against her cheek, and the smell of him around her. The way his lips had felt against her skin, and the light scratching of his stubble. The way he’d respected her and done everything right. The way she’d wanted him to do the exact opposite. She was so ashamed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d looked so peaceful in his sleep, and her anger had wavered slightly when she’d seen how lost he’d looked. What she’d told him was true, though. She couldn’t do this. She wasn’t strong enough to say no, and she didn’t want to say yes. So she was taking herself out of the situation, and out of the choice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her phone pinged again, for what seemed like the hundredth time. She ignored it. She pressed down on the gas and her engine roared, the speed limit long forgotten. She was itching for a cigarette, which, in hindsight, should have worried her. She hadn’t smoked since she’d been pregnant with Clarke, over twenty years ago. A glance at her watch informed her it was a few minutes to midnight. In about ten minutes, she’d be home.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As she took the sharp turn into her parking spot, and the tires screeched against the concrete, she saw Clarke run out of their front door. She was rushing towards her. Abby got out of the car and held out her arms for her daughter, locking her in a tight hug. Clarke held her in return, but as soon as she let go, a sullen frown settled on her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mom, what the hell is happening? Dr. Kane sent Bellamy like, a thousand texts, asking if he was with me, and if he was, if I’d heard from you, if you were home safe, that we had to text him as soon as you arrived… He seemed really panicked, and we were worried about you! I texted you! Where the hell were you?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby sighed deeply. She took her daughter’s hand and walked toward the house, trying to figure out how she was going to explain it all. Bellamy’s motorbike was parked in their yard—she wasn’t surprised he was still there, midnight was early for them, but she wasn’t especially thrilled to see him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She walked through the front door and greeted Bellamy, who was sitting on the couch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, that’s the thing. I was at Kane’s.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Clarke’s voice was half-surprised, half-amused as she shot a wide-eyed glance at Bellamy, and Abby immediately understood where her daughter’s mind had gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We had a business lunch, and I ended up staying the afternoon there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not only the afternoon, apparently.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I fell asleep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d never hear the end of this. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to never hear the man’s name ever again. Her head was throbbing, she didn’t feel stable on her feet, and she was still fuming, even if she didn’t want Clarke to pick up on that, or worse, Bellamy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“May I text my father that you’re home safe, Dr. Griffin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” she gave in. “He’ll bother you until you do, anyway. But you better get home, Bellamy. I’m very tired and I need to talk to Clarke.” That was a lie, she just needed a reason to ask him to leave. She saw in Clarke’s eyes that she’d understood, but that it didn’t reassure her on bit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabbed his phone, typed in a short message, then grabbed his rucksack and stood up straight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be going, then. See you tomorrow, Dr. Griffin.” Right. She had to give class in the morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clarke, text me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke nodded with a smile and gave him a quick hug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get home safe, Bell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She walked him out the door, then turned back to her mother. Abby could tell that Clarke saw right through her, and she wasn’t all that fond of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look like hell, mom. Did something happen? Between you and Kane?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby sat down at the kitchen table, trying not to collapse onto it. She was still exhausted, and her whole body hurt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, nothing.” Her voice sounded broken, defeated. She hated was she was hearing. “We didn’t even really fight. We talked about the Expo, we chatted. It went well.” Clarke looked more worried than angry now, and it did nothing to make Abby feel better. “Look, baby, I’m exhausted. Why don’t we go to sleep?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure. If that’s what you need.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A shower and a troubled “good night” from Clarke later, Abby was lying in bed, staring at her phone screen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>4 missed calls from: Marcus Kane</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>16 new messages from: Marcus Kane</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She locked her phone, then unlocked it. Then, taking a deep breath, she opened her text app.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Marcus Kane called at 11:47 p.m.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Abby, wait.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You shouldn’t drive.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Marcus Kane called at 11:48 p.m.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>What’s wrong?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Don’t take your car.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Damn it, Abby!</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Marcus Kane called at 11:48 p.m.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Abby, whatever happened is not worth putting your life in danger.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a lapse in time between that message and the next, and Abby guessed that it was because he’d seen her leave. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t text and drive, kids</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought bitterly. Trust Marcus Kane to do that sort of thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I hope you’re home safe.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Please tell me when you are.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Abby, I don’t know what happened.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Did I do something?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I’m sorry.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>We shouldn’t have drunk.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I got Bellamy’s message.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Marcus Kane called at 12:11 a.m.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Abby, please, talk to me.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I’ll be coming to your room tomorrow, you know that, right?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Alright, suit yourself. Good night, Abby.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hot tears rolled from Abby’s eyes into the pillow, and her chest was shaking with sobs that she was trying her best to hold back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Stop texting me, Kane.</em>
  </b>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The next morning, Clarke woke up more tired than she’d been in months. She hadn’t been able to sleep before 3 a.m. had rolled in, and even then, her sleep had been troubled by dreams of her mother and Marcus Kane on a mountain, arguing about whether the sky was blue or grey. Not to mention her whole body was sore from the hike.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last thing she wanted was going to class, sitting the whole day through in crowded rooms, having to pretend like she liked her classmates. Especially Finn. What a pretentious asshole, that one, always above everything and everyone. No, she didn’t want to go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wouldn’t go, she decided as she pulled on her sweater. She had to go, she argued to herself as she saw her mother stirring her coffee absently at the breakfast table. She didn’t know what had happened between her mother and Kane, but what she knew was that she hadn’t seen her so off since the early days of her father’s death. And that didn’t bode well. At all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mom, what’s wrong?” She wanted her mother to talk to her. Because she wouldn’t talk to anyone else. That damned pride that stopped her from asking for help.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I feel so stupid.” Abby took a sip of her coffee. “But you’re my daughter, not my therapist, baby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t care. Tell me what happened. I haven’t seen you so down in years. What happened at Kane’s that got you in this state?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was lovely, we talked about the expo, and he’d made this soup… it was delicious. We got along better than either of us probably thought we could.” A sad smile stretched her lips. Clarke was careful not to interrupt her, she wanted to hear the end of this. She wasn’t surprised that they’d gotten along so well, they were very similar in a lot of ways. “But we drank. I don’t know what got into us… into me. I drank too much. I ruined what could have been a good thing. No use talking about it any longer.” A good thing? Was there more to the story than she’d told Clarke? Or did she just mean their partnership? Nevertheless, her tone was determined now, and she looked relieved to have gotten it all out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mission accomplished. Sort of.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Do you need a ride to the Ark?” And there she was, her mother, back from her slump.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I’m fine, mom. Thanks, though. See you tonight?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An hour later, Clarke was standing in front of the forest mural she’d run away from two days before. She’d really tried to motivate herself to go to class, but she just didn’t feel up to it. She’d ask someone for the lessons. She opened her notebook back to the page where she’d tried to sketch the masterpiece that was in front of her. It was bad. If she wanted to truly do it justice, she’d have to take several pictures of it, and spend hours working on it at home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was fascinated by the technique, the pure finesse that was in the piece. Most people, like Finn, considered street art to be rough, devoid of artistic quality. But this whole gallery would prove anyone who thought that wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was hoping you’d come back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke almost jumped at the sudden voice behind her. She turned back, to see a woman of about her age standing on the fire escape stairs behind her. She had long brown hair that tumbled down to her waist and was dressed in all black, except for a blue plaid flannel tied around her waist. The stranger leaped over the railing, landing three feet in front of Clarke, then extended her hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Lexa. I painted this.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>He’d put it off all day. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>planned to go see her at the end of her first class, but he’d gotten so scared that he had buried himself in work, hoping to be able to pull that off until it was too late, she’d gone home, and he was forced to do the same. He was worried about her, he was mad at her, he felt a whirlwind of emotions towards her that he’d have been oh too happy to ignore. Except he’d received an alarming text from Bellamy, reading </span>
  <b>Clarke hasn’t been in touch all day. I’m worried. Can you check with Dr. Griffin that she’s okay?</b>
  <span> and now, he felt he had no choice but to go ask Abby. He had no memory of seeing Clarke in class that morning, though he was positive she could have been there without him seeing her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t want to text Abby, partially because she’d ordered him to stop doing it, and partially because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>have to talk to her. So now, Marcus was standing outside Abby’s room, facing the door, too terrified to knock. He was about to finally do it when he heard voices inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I saw Kane today, at lunch. He looked terrible.” Whoever was speaking seemed thrilled by that idea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t really care, Callie.” Abby’s voice. Marcus leaned forward without even realizing it. So the person she was talking to was Callie Cartwig. That explained the glee in her voice when she’d talked about his misery. She and Marcus had slept together </span>
  <em>
    <span>once</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and when he’d told her he didn’t want more, she’d started whining about him to anyone who would listen. He’d never minded, because her audience was usually slim.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you would. Since when do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>hate him?” Now, that was a question Marcus wanted to hear the answer to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but he’s going to be my partner, all year long. So I don’t have the luxury to hate him. Besides, when have I ever expressed joy because of someone else’s pain? Grow up.” Abby’s voice was stern and cold, and so like what it had been the night before, when she’d woken him up, that it sent a chill down his spine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, so he said yes to your little ‘project’.” Her voice was so disdainful, Marcus’ blood began to boil. “Jeez, you’ve become one of the boring ones. Screw you, Abby.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marcus stepped away from the door just as Callie opened it, and the look on her face would have made him burst out laughing if he hadn’t been so worried about everything else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh good, you’ve come to visit your new pet,” she spat out, like the words burned her tongue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Abby is not my pet, and I believe you’re not wanted here, Callie. Not that you’ve ever been.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stepped in Abby’s room and closed the door behind him, sighing deeply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was mean, Marcus.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His head snapped up. “Marcus”. Was all hope not lost?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know. it’s just… I overheard her, and she wasn’t exactly kind to me either.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s true. Listen, I owe you an apology, for yesterday.” He didn’t want an apology, he wanted an explication. But before either of those, he’d come here for a more urgent matter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll listen to everything you have to say, but just before that, have you seen your daughter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My daughter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, your daughter. Clarke. Blonde, a few inches taller than you…?” Abby gave him a look and he stopped talking, happy to see just the hint of a smile in those big brown eyes of hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I haven’t seen her. Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, Bellamy texted me. He says he hasn’t heard from her all day. I just wanted to check that she was alright.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The instant alarm in Abby’s eyes was not lost on him. Their children were twenty, but that did not mean that they’d stop worrying as if they were kids. She was mysterious in a lot of ways, but he understood her as a mother. She grabbed her phone from her back pocket, and began typing furiously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure she’s fine. Abby, don’t look at me like that, your daughter’s a grown-up, she can take care of herself for twenty-four hours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Easy for you to say that,” she said with a huff, “if Bellamy went missing, I’m sure you’d sit around calmly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s not missing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, no one knows where she is, so that’s being missing in my book.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t know that. Did she look… weird or sad this morning?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There it was. It wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t seen Clarke, his amphitheater was huge, and even if she hadn’t come, that was in no way his responsibility. Though, admitting it to Abby was a whole other story. She was looking at him with expectant eyes, and knowing he couldn’t give her the answer she wanted made him more than a little nervous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… didn’t see her this morning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?!” There it was. “And why is that?” She looked pissed, and he felt tiny.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t always see everyone!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’re saying she might not have been in your class?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. I’m also saying she might have been. I don’t know if she was.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, I have to call her. Get out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was unexpected. He frowned, and she pointed towards the door with an icy glare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright. I’m going.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just as he was about to pass the door, he turned back to look at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Catch you later?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll see you, Marcus,” she replied with a small smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He left the room feeling like a weight had been lifted from him. He wasn’t actually worried about Clarke, he was sure she was fine, and apparently Abby wasn’t mad at him anymore. So, things were back to normal. Or at least, to what he hoped was normal now.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Parents confront their children.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was 7:32 when Abby finally got a call back from her daughter. She swiped her screen to accept the call, her fingers shaking with relief. She knew she shouldn’t have gotten so worked up, but losing her daughter was her worst nightmare and Clarke </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>went a whole day without texting Bellamy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clarke, are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am. I promise I am, mom, I’m so sorry. I’ll be home soon.” Her daughter had the decency to actually sound sorry. That did nothing to placate Abby, who was itching to ground her daughter, though she couldn’t technically do that anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you better, young lady. When will that be?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My bus is here. Twenty minutes tops. Love ya.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she hung up, leaving Abby with the phone against her ear, a million scolding sentences dying on the tip of her tongue. Shaking her head, she texted Kane </span>
  <b>
    <em>Tell Bellamy Clarke is alright and on her way home.</em>
  </b>
  <span> before adding a sheepish </span>
  <b>
    <em>Please?</em>
  </b>
  <span>. Talking to him today had made her feel like things could still work out between them, but it was still like walking on eggshells. They hadn’t mentioned the previous night, but he hadn’t seemed mad at her. Still, she needed to talk to him about it, and sooner rather than later. If their partnership was going to work, there couldn’t be any lingering tensions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Done. Glad to hear it. Not as much as Bellamy though.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby smiled down at her phone. Why was texting him so much easier than talking to him face to face? They weren’t teenagers, for Christ’s sake. But maybe teenagers hadn’t gotten everything wrong after all. Especially since seeing him made her do stupid things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Talking to Clarke that morning had helped her get over herself, and she felt that she could now go about her life—and talk to Marcus—without dying of shame. She didn’t have to make a big deal out of it. They wouldn’t get personal, they would keep their relationship strictly professional, and she could still be civil to him. There. Easy. Things didn’t have to be complicated. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Keep telling yourself that.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fifteen minutes later, Clarke pushed the front door open, and Abby had to use all her willpower to stop herself from hugging her daughter as tight as she could. Instead, she stood in the kitchen, her arms crossed and a frown knitting her brows together. Time to be the mother she’d failed to be that very morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell were you thinking?” was her introductory statement. She knew her daughter was grown up now, but still, she had no right to go off on her own, not letting anyone know if she was alright. “Do you even realize how worried you made me, and Bellamy? Even Marcus was concerned about you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, now ‘Marcus’ has a say in things?” She drew dramatic air quotes in the air, looking as if her mother had just offended her deeply. “Might I remind you </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> comforted </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> this morning, after you fell out with him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s beside the point.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>And too true to be refuted.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “What about Bellamy and me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was busy, I didn’t think to check my phone, alright?” Clarke’s tone was rising, and Abby didn’t really understand why. She hadn’t done anything, except worry for her daughter, right? Or was there something else Clarke was mad about?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you getting mad, don’t you think—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, come on. I said I was sorry, didn’t I? And now you’re treating me like I’m five and I just broke a vase. I’m twenty, mom, and I’m allowed to go twelve hours without texting you, or Bellamy.” She all but stomped towards her bedroom, only turning back before disappearing through the door. “I’m sorry I made you worry, but you both need to understand I’m a free person.” And with that, the bedroom door was shut behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Had Clarke still been a teenager, Abby would have knocked on her door and demanded they finish the conversation, but she wasn’t a teenager anymore, and maybe she had a point. She objectively hadn’t been gone long, and Abby had welcomed her with a scolding. If her own parents had pulled that when she was twenty, she would have been far angrier than Clarke was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And so, with a defeated sigh, she settled at the kitchen table to grade some papers. Her life wasn’t all Marcus Kane drama and arguments with her daughter, and it was sometimes too easy to forget that. Human relationships were the basis of who she was—it showed in her choice of career, and even in the man she’d chosen to share her life. Jake was the most human person she’d ever known, and he came back every night with tales of his clients. He filled the house with his friends and family for every celebration. He’d provided her with the human contact she needed, and she’d latched onto him immediately. Maybe a part of her had sensed that their adult life would be what it had been.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But now that he was gone, the gaping hole was desperate to be filled. Abby had grown distant from his family as time had passed, and had never had a great relationship with her own. In the years following Jake’s passing, she’d noticed herself throwing everything she had in every relationship that she formed, without ever being satisfied. That dissatisfaction had led her to close off, somehow. She’d always been a woman of few friends, but few had become two good friends, and endless meaningless acquaintances. Plus whatever Marcus was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, of her two good friends, there was one she knew she could call when her thoughts spiraled out of control. She took out her phone and dialed his number.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Abby Griffin. What can I do for you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, Jacapo. Why do you always assume I want something whenever I call you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because you usually do?” He had a point. She usually called him when she needed to vent, when she felt down, or when something big had happened. He did the same. In the nineteen years of friendship that they’d known, they’d never done small talk. And they knew they never would.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, you got me. I got a little caught up in my own thoughts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As you tend to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby chuckled. Yes, she did do that a lot, and it usually didn’t bother her. But this time was different.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. I was thinking about how alone I’ve felt since Jake passed. You know, I have you, and I have Niylah, but that’s about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I can’t help but think that maybe I’m not letting myself get close to people because I’m scared to lose them. Like, my brain doesn’t even let me like people enough to want to be close to them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Abby, this is you overthinking. Again. Have you considered maybe you just don’t really like your colleagues? They’re the only people you’ve gotten even a chance to be close to lately. You don’t go out, and when you do, you don’t talk to anyone. You pace the museum, alone. You go to a concert, alone. With Clarke, if you’re feeling especially social. Do you want to know how I know that? Because you told me. You called me, after having been purposedly alone, and told me you felt alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. That sounds… suspiciously familiar. Might even be me.” Abby tried to joke, even though her chest felt heavy. Trust Jacapo Sinclair to put her in front of her own bullshit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is.” There wasn’t the shadow of a laugh in his voice. “When was the last time you had fun with someone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There it was, Abby realized. The reason she’d really called him. And, coincidentally, the one topic she’d wanted him to avoid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yesterday.” She wouldn’t elaborate unless he asked her to. She was terrified of what he would say, mainly because she knew what he would say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And why aren’t you going to have fun with that person again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who said anything about—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Answer the question.” His tone was stern, and she rolled her eyes. He wasn’t going to let her get away with anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not going to have fun with him again because I messed it up. Not to mention he’s my colleague, not my friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you have a history with him that unpacking would take effort?” Shit. She hadn’t expected him to understand who she was talking about, especially since she hadn’t told him that they were having lunch together. But her motives were legitimate, whatever Jacapo would say. “Abby, are you attracted to him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess… I guess you could say he’s not unpleasant-looking.” She wasn’t ready to admit to anything out loud. Thinking the things he made her think was bad enough. The way her pulse had raced after he’d tucked her hair back was bad enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’re attracted to him. Have you considered the fact that you were running from that admission the whole time, and that maybe you should just see how things go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to hang up, now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was thinking you might. But remember, Abby, just because a thing is imperfect doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Jacapo who hung up, in the end, because Abby’s phone had slid out of her hand and onto the floor.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>“Abby says that Clarke is alright and on her way home,” Marcus announced from where he was standing in the kitchen. He smiled at the timid </span>
  <b>Please?</b>
  <span> that arrived as he was saying the words. Bellamy burst out of his room a few seconds later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Marcus chuckled. He texted Abby back and went back to his cooking, happy to see his son as relieved as he was. Not ten seconds later, Bellamy’s phone buzzed and, from the look on his face, it was Clarke. “Told you she was alright.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy was too absorbed in his reading of Clarke’s text to pay much attention to his father, but his expression soon shifted from joy to confusion, to something Marcus could only have described as disappointment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s up?” he asked as though he couldn’t see how his son’s mood had changed, pointedly not looking up from the tomato sauce he was stirring. Bellamy had always hated opening up, so Marcus had gotten very good at making him talk without it feeling like a big heart-to-heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it’s just that I got a text from Clarke…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s she saying?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, that’s the thing. She says she hasn’t been in touch because she, I quote, met someone awesome and needs to tell me all about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. That was a bush that would be hard to beat around. As Clarke’s professor, Marcus had always made an effort not to get too involved in her friendship with Bellamy but, from the early days, he’d always assumed Bellamy had a thing for his best friend. And his son’s face was all the confirmation he needed. There was no avoiding confrontation on that one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Bell. I know how you feel about her.” This time, he looked up, making his sympathy clear to his son. But Bellamy jerked toward him, panic painted all over his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Why would you think that? I don’t…” And there it was. The famous Bellamy fumbling. Bellamy had always been a terrible liar, but even if he knew that his parents didn’t believe him, that didn’t stop him from trying. “Besides, she didn’t say she’d met someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>like that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it might just be a new friend, or—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop rambling, Bell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not rambling. I don’t like Clarke that way, but she’s my best friend and I’m worried that she disappeared a whole day without saying anything to anyone, skipping classes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>including yours</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because she ‘met someone’!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Had that been his opening statement, Marcus might have believed him, but it was too late for that. He wouldn’t push his son too much, though, for both their sakes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can talk to me about Clarke. You don’t need to lie.” He was trying to sound supportive and encouraging, but his son’s grimace told him it might have been lost on him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not lying.” There was a fire in his eyes that worried Marcus. It was a fire he’d seen too many times in Aurora. “You’re just projecting onto me because you can’t handle your stupid little crush on Abby Griffin.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And with that, he stormed back to his bedroom. Abby? That, he hadn’t seen coming. Bellamy thought he had a crush on Abby? It was both fully understandable and completely unexpected. His dream came rushing back, how her lips had felt against his. And even before that, how much he’d enjoyed seeing her in his home, as if she </span>
  <em>
    <span>belonged </span>
  </em>
  <span>there. Maybe the way she made his heart beat faster and stronger could be considered a crush, but it was purely physical. She was a beautiful woman, and there was no harm in admitting it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy, on the other hand, was in far deeper, and Marcus didn’t know whether Clarke returned his feelings or not. If he based himself on the wording of her text, she didn’t, and was also wildly unaware that Bellamy felt anything more than friendship for her. Ah, young love. Or lack thereof. There would be a lot of discussion needed if Clarke turned out to really have met someone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He unlocked his phone again, pondering whether he should call or text Abby. Her words were still ringing in his ears. “I can’t do this!” Still, she’d told Callie that she and Marcus were partners, so she didn’t want them to completely part ways. A part of him was still mad that she’d left so hurriedly, with no regard for her personal safety, or for how terrified she’d made him. He could still feel the ice-cold dread filling his veins and fogging his brain. When Bellamy had arrived home, he’d found his father more shaken than he’d seen him in years, Marcus knew. Nevertheless, it wasn’t about him, and he knew Abby had probably had a reason to leave in such a hurry, and the only thing that mattered was whether Marcus could fix it or not.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>When Abby’s phone screen lit up with an incoming call, she’d barely recovered from the previous one. Jacapo’s words had shaken her to her core, finding something deep inside her and stirring it. Hard. She felt completely disoriented and yet, she’d found a ground to stand on. She needed to apologize to Marcus. She needed to make it clear, somehow, that they could be friends. Of course, she wouldn’t let it go past that, because she wasn’t ready in any way to give way to the things he made her feel, but friendship she could manage. Not to mention she was curious to get to know him more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So when she looked down at her phone to find that he was the one who was calling her, she couldn’t help but think that there had to be some sort of force in the world that pushed people together. That pushed Marcus toward her, time and time again. And this time, she wasn’t going to push him away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, Marcus,” she said, her mouth smiling at the taste of his name in her mouth. She loved it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi again.” His voice was low and sent a shiver down her spine, like it usually did. But hearing it over the phone was something else entirely. So intimate. “Sorry for calling you, I didn’t know if you would mind… But we need to talk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was just thinking about it. Can I… Can I go first?” If she didn’t let it out now, she was afraid she never would.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry about yesterday. I’m sorry for drinking so much, and for making you think that you had to give up your bed for me. And especially for asking you to… you know. I’m sorry about all of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and Abby bit down on her bottom lip, so hard that she could taste a faint tang of blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that…” Marcus’ voice was hesitant, almost shocked. “Is that what you think you have to apologize for?” Abby had no answer to that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, I do. What else is there?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Abby, I’m not mad at you for drinking. I don’t care that you practically asked me to have sex with you.” She winced at his words. So he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>mad. She’d just gotten the reason wrong. “We all do stupid things when we’re drunk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what is it?” she asked, dreading the answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m mad that you woke me up in the middle of the night, practically screaming at me. But that I could have dealt with, had you not driven off to God knows where. You were in no state to be driving, and you scared the hell out of me!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, for the third time that day, since Marcus had walked into her classroom earlier, the air was knocked out of her lungs. He was mad, not because of all the irresponsible, embarrassing stuff she’d done, but because she’d worried him? Was there something wrong with him?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Marcus, I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’m an adult. When I left your house, I wasn’t drunk anymore, and I didn’t feel comfortable staying with you after what had happened. It doesn’t seem to me that you get to be mad about that.” She could feel her temper starting to rise again, which was the opposite of what she’d called him for. “I can’t say what you want me to say. I can’t apologize for keeping myself safe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry you felt unsafe with me.” His voice was so broken, so defeated, that Abby’s anger immediately subdued. She felt the intrinsic need to drive over to his apartment and hug away his pain. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But you’re the one who caused it.</span>
  </em>
  <span> As she was about to explain herself, not even sure what she could say, she heard the tell-tale beep of a terminated call. He’d hung up.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoyed this chapter!<br/>Just letting you know that I might take a two-week break after Chapter 10--so in two weeks from now. I'll keep you updated on that :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>An unexpected disappearance brings Marcus and Abby back together.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Maybe her motherly instinct was still as strong as it used to be, or maybe she heard something in her sleep, but as soon as she woke up, Abby knew something was wrong. She took a glance at her bedside clock and decided that 7 was late enough to take a peek in her daughter’s bedroom, so she got up and wrapped herself in her dressing gown, her heart pounding just that little bit faster. She felt anxious, and was scared that she’d find she had reasons to be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She walked down the corridor and knocked at Clarke’s door softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Honey, are you up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no response. Tuesday morning. Clarke had no classes on Tuesday mornings. Abby practically ran to the kitchen, to see if there was a note on the table, which there would be if Clarke had gone out on a run or to meet Bellamy. As her eyes frantically searched the room, she had to admit to herself that there was no note. She went back to Clarke’s door and knocked again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clarke, I’m coming in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She opened the door and her heart sank. The bed was done, and there was definitely no Clarke in it. A hand of steel closed around her heart and clutched it tight. She tied her gown around her waist, raced to the kitchen, grabbed her car keys, then rushed out the front door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fifteen minutes later, she was standing in front of Marcus’ building, ringing his doorbell furiously. When a groggy Marcus Kane let a tired “Hello?” out into the intercom, she’d never been more glad to hear his voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Marcus, it’s me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, Abby, it’s my sleeping in day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clarke’s gone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a few seconds of silence, he buzzed her in, and she climbed the stairs to the top of the building like her life depended on it. In a sense, it did. At the top of the stairs, Marcus was standing in the doorway, his hair tousled and only dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need to talk to Bellamy.”</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to be mad at her for showing up at his place, at 7 in the morning, demanding to see his son, especially after their discussion the night before, but the distress in her eyes was impossible to ignore. He’d have time to talk to her later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s up. Your doorbell concert was sort of difficult to sleep through.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t listen to him, Dr. Griffin. I have class at 8:30, I was already up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy was at the kitchen island, munching on a piece of toast, and Marcus glared at him. Way to support your parents. He had to contain his thoughts, though, because Abby was, quite possibly, bringing news that would greatly trouble Bellamy. There was no time for Marcus to be grumpy or teasing. He tried his best to wake up, but his brain was still a bit foggy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Has Clarke texted you?” Abby asked Bellamy, her voice wavering. Bellamy immediately put down his toast and rushed to his bedroom. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He would literally drop everything for that girl.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was endearing that he still thought he was good at hiding his feelings when he acted like that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I usually don’t check my phone during breakfast, but I—” he said as he came out of his room, stopping mid-sentence as his eyes scanned his phone screen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marcus watched the scene unfold, unable to move as Abby rushed to his son’s side and put a hand in front of her mouth, a raspy gasp escaping her lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it? What happened?” he asked, scared to death that something had happened to the young woman all three of them cared about deeply—though Abby probably beat them by a long shot at that contest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby gestured to Bellamy to explain what they’d seen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clarke texted me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And? What does it say?” Marcus was growing more worried by the second.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She says ‘I’ll be gone for the day, maybe longer. Don’t look for me, and don’t tell my mom.’ She sent it thirty minutes ago.” Bellamy’s bottom lip was quivering, the way it used to when he was a kid, and Marcus’ parental side took over as he walked over to them and put an arm around his son’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, guys. If she sent that, she knew she was going to be fine, right?” Two pairs of teary eyes looked back at him, full of doubt and fear. Abby’s had a side of pure unaltered anger to them, though, that Marcus wasn’t willing to see unfurl. “Abby, did she say something last night?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She did,” Abby let out with a heavy sigh, every emotion in her eyes backing out to give way to an immense weariness. “We had an argument, of sorts. I figured she’d sneak out of her bedroom once I’d gone to sleep, so she could eat the plate I’d left her, and that this morning, everything would be back to normal. That’s how it usually happens.” She put both of her hands in front of her face, and Marcus wished he could have hugged her—but that probably wouldn’t help her feel safe in his presence, so he stayed put.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He observed her as she was trying to compose herself, finding it almost sweet despite the circumstances that she’d been in such a hurry that she hadn’t bothered to change from her sleeping attire. Something bothered him, though. Her silky dressing gown looked weirdly familiar, but he was almost positive Aurora had never owned anything that looked remotely like this. Where had he seen it? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You need to be rational, Abby. She’ll be in touch in a while, but she clearly needs to be away from you right now. I don’t know what happened between you two, but you need to give her the time she needs,” he said softly, not exactly knowing which attitude to have with her. His stomach was still knotted after their exchange the night before, and he was scared, terrified to hurt her again. Especially with how vulnerable she was at the moment. “Do you want me to call the university and tell them you won’t be coming in today?” he proposed. He knew Abby. Maybe not all sides of her, maybe not all the time, but he still an idea of who she was, and she wouldn’t be able to properly give class if her mind was set on imagining Clarke dead in a ditch, or worse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby nodded, and her face looked more peaceful. At least, that was something.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll call them myself, thank you. All the stuff I’d planned for the students to do today, they can do without me anyway.” She shook her head and the last traces of worry disappeared from her traits—after all, she’d always been good at keeping her chin up, Marcus reminded himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marcus and Bellamy sat silently at the kitchen island, watching as Abby paced the living room, explaining to the administration that she wouldn’t come in today, and which assignments each class had to work on. Marcus was once again struck by how </span>
  <em>
    <span>natural </span>
  </em>
  <span>it was to have her in his home, and he had to force himself to push these thoughts out of his head. He was being delusional, and he didn’t like it one bit.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>After she’d hung up, Abby stayed silent for a few long minutes, and she was grateful that Bellamy and Marcus didn’t break it, because she felt like she was drowning in thoughts and ways to deal with the situation. As infuriating as it was to admit, Marcus was right. She had to be rational. She had to think things through, and to remind herself of facts. Her daughter was a grown-up. She was safe, supposedly, and didn’t want her mother to find her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to go home,” she said, turning towards the two men. “That way, if she comes home, I’ll be there to welcome her, and we’ll talk things through.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marcus nodded with an understanding look in his eyes, but Bellamy frowned and shook his head, taking a step towards her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No offense, Dr. Griffin, but if Clarke really is mad at you, chances are she’ll come here.” When Abby shot him a questioning glance, he shrugged and added, “That’s what she usually does.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Usually?</span>
  </em>
  <span> That was a new piece of information. But Bellamy knew her daughter’s ways, and she trusted that, if he’d taken the time to correct her, he was pretty certain of what he was saying. She turned to Marcus, and cursed herself for what she was about to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well then, would it be okay for you if I… stayed here until she comes back?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marcus’ eyes were unreadable as he hummed in agreement. “Sure. I just have the one class between 1 and 3 but I trust you won’t burn the house down.” His voice was just as indecipherable as his gaze, so Abby decided to treat him as the grown man that he was. If he said yes, she’d take it as a yes. Nothing mattered beyond getting Clarke back and fixing what she’d done wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t.” She tried her best to give him a reassuring smile, but some part of her was screaming at her that she didn’t need to lie to him, or put up a facade, and it was getting more and more difficult to ignore. “I might just pop home to get some papers that I have to grade.” After her phone call with Jacapo, and the one with Marcus himself, she hadn’t been in the mood, and she’d gone straight to making dinner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I have to leave too, dad, I’m almost late already,” Bellamy said with a nod and a smile towards Abby.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Five minutes later, Marcus was standing alone, Abby’s casual “See you later.” still ringing in his ears. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, maybe Bellamy has a point about this crush thing.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And that’s when it kicked in. Abby’s dressing gown. It was the one she’d been wearing in his dream. His heart pounding, he had to remind himself of two very important things. He wasn’t psychic in any way, and this was a coincidence. And Abby felt unsafe with him, in some respect at least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t stand a chance with her, and she needed him for the Expo. There was no time for unrequited feelings in his life, particularly in his relationship with her. He was a grown man, and he was perfectly capable of getting over a crush. His priority was making Abby comfortable during this day they’d spend together, especially since she was so vulnerable and hurt by Clarke’s disappearance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He went back to his bedroom, opened the window and the blinds, and breathed in the morning air. Letting the fresh air fill his lungs, he realized he’d been suffocating. The heating wasn’t that high, though. He let the breeze caress his cheek, and his chest felt less heavy. The sun had risen already, and there were birds somewhere, chirping away. All in all, the day ahead seemed to be a good one. But before everything, he had to talk to Abby.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>For the first time in forever, Clarke was woken up, not by the ringing of her alarm clock, but by a body stirring next to hers. Her eyes opened and the warm light that filtered through the curtains matched the way she was feeling—warm, and new. She turned to lie on her side, so she could watch Lexa wake up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The brunette was her own personal guardian angel, Clarke was certain of it. She’d arrived in her life at the very moment she’d needed her the most—if you ignored the fact that she was the one who’d precipitated Clarke’s conflict with her mom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke had always suspected that she was attracted to women as well as men, but she’d never actually wanted to pursue it, so she’d never had to confront it, but Lexa had come along, beautiful and talented and flirty as hell. And suddenly, Clarke had found that she was scared out of her mind to tell her mom about it. She knew she’d behaved like a coward and like a child, and that her mother was probably tearing her hair out looking for her, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret running away. Lexa made her feel good, and she wasn’t ready to face her mother.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She traced the tattoos on her companion’s back, the whirlwind of emotions inside of her stilling for a moment. There was no outside world, no worried mothers and coming out terrors, there were only two young women in a bed, sharing a moment of infinity.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for letting me spend the day here,” Abby said, tentatively, because Marcus had been sitting silently on the other side of the room for the better part of an hour and she was starting to feel like an intruder. She probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>an intruder, in his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knew him well enough to see that something else was bothering him, and she was clever enough to have a clear idea of what it was. Their conversation on the phone, and her last words to him. She felt incredibly bad at the thought of having hurt him—something that should have concerned her more than it did—but she was too scared to bring it up. Hopefully, he would.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s no trouble, really. Besides, I care about Clarke and I would hate for her to have to come home to my nitwit of a son.” She looked up to find him smiling, and she relaxed a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bellamy’s a great kid, Marcus. Clarke would be lucky to come home to him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid Clarke would disagree with you. I’m not one to gossip about my child’s love life, though, so enough on that matter.” He wrote something down on his notepad before looking back up, an incalculable sadness filling his eyes. Even across the room, Abby felt as though she’d been punched in the gut. “I just hope your daughter finds someone who makes her feel safe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Marcus…” She had to address it, she had to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Abby, I get it,” he interrupted. “And honestly, I’m sorry. I am. I keep telling myself I didn’t do anything wrong, but really I spent years antagonizing you, so what did I expect? Of course you wouldn’t feel safe with me. We’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to feel safe with each other.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Each word that Marcus uttered was like a blow that knocked the air out of her lungs, and she felt dizzy. The worst part was that he was right. They were enemies, had been for as long as they’d known each other. Sure, they could shed their animosity in order to work together, but that didn’t mean they had to get comfy. She could feel her walls coming back up—and to think she hadn’t even realized she’d brought them down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right. Good talk.” She turned back to the tests she was grading, furiously circling a mistake a student had made. First-year college students and they still couldn't’ tell “their” from “they’re”.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Very short chapter here, but it worked better as a unit and I'm against padding for the sake of padding. So... yeah! Two more chapters before my two-week hiatus, but don't worry, things are getting good :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>September turns into October and things don’t change much.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Guilt and shame loomed over Clarke as she rang Bellamy’s doorbell. She knew she should have been standing outside of her own front door, and that her mother was probably going crazy, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She had to see Bellamy, to tell him everything she was feeling, so that she could get her thoughts in order. She was buzzed in almost immediately and figured Bellamy had been waiting for her. He was too easily worried, she mused as she waited for the elevator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knocked on the door, and Dr. Kane opened it. The look on his face told her he was expecting someone else, but he quickly regained composure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke! It’s good to see you.” He smiled at her and gestured for her to come in. “We were just wondering if we should save you a plate or not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Bellamy had known she’d come to see him first. Sometimes, she wondered if he knew her too well. But then again, that’s what best friends were supposed to be like. She hung her jacket on the rack and entered the apartment she’d become so familiar with throughout the last few months.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought Bellamy had forgotten his keys, and that—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kane’s words were drowned out by the blood rushing to Clarke’s ears as she took in the sight of her mother in the kitchen, frozen in the middle of what seemed like setting the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Marcus watched as the two women moved, not towards each other, but each to the side, like two predators silently fighting, each trying to assert their dominance. He was surprised by such animosity, because Abby had been most worried, and Clarke was usually a sweet girl, but in that instant, he wouldn’t have gotten between them for a million dollars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched as Abby’s face finally softened, and she stepped forward. So she would rather give up her power over Clarke in order to solve a conflict. Interesting. He wasn’t sure she’d ever been that way with him, but he was that way with Bellamy, so maybe it was a parent-to-child thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke,” she started, and her voice was softer, more fragile, than he’d ever heard it. It broke his heart a little, and the weight on his chest grew heavier. The words he’d had for Abby earlier in the day hadn’t stopped echoing in his mind since, and they’d spent the whole day in complete silence, only exchanging a few words when they’d had to have lunch. They’d made sandwiches that they’d eaten on their opposite sides of the room. When Marcus had returned from the university, he’d found that Abby had moved from the kitchen island to the couch and the coffee table, which he’d been grateful for. His back didn’t like his couch as much as his eyes did. “Clarke, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. I’m sorry that you were so hurt that you felt you had to leave.” Marcus felt as though he shouldn’t have been there, and heard those words, but Abby was the one who’d asked to stay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom, can we just… not talk about it?” Clarke had let her guard down, too, Marcus noted, and, at that moment, it was painfully evident that they were mother and daughter. The hair color did nothing to hide the vulnerability in their eyes, the tremor in their voices, the similar postures—like their bodies wanted to run to each other and they had to forcefully hold them back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Abby’s voice was a mute whisper as she opened her arms. Clarke reluctantly stepped into them, and her mother hugged her tight, murmuring soft reassurances in her hair. Marcus swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat wasn’t ready to be defeated that easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you guys still staying for dinner?” He felt like a jerk interrupting them, but he also felt really uncomfortable. Clarke was still his student, and he’d ruined any chance he had at a friendship with Abby—which was for the best. So watching them reconciling in the middle of his kitchen, however relieving it was, wasn’t the most pleasant experience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abby looked at Clarke, who shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably not. Thanks for everything, Marcus, but we’re going to head home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were gone as quickly as Abby could manage to get her stuff in order, and Marcus breathed out. The Griffin women had absolutely no mercy for the Kane men, Marcus thought humorlessly. Clarke hadn’t even considered staying until Bellamy got home, and Abby had taken Marcus’ words literally, barely taking the time to say goodbye. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Two weeks later, the leaves on the trees were a little less green, the morning wind had started being biting rather than refreshing, and there were fewer students on the large lawns of the Ark, but Bellamy’s mind still hadn’t moved on from the white-hot burn of realizing that the girl he loved didn’t feel the same. It had all happened over the course of twenty-four hours, but in that time, Clarke had met someone, then disappeared without telling him why, then reappeared </span>
  <em>
    <span>at his dad’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> and left without bothering to wait for him to come home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been a rude awakening for him, and he’d even shed a few tears, not that anyone would ever know. And he loved his dad, but the constant fussing over him was driving him crazy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, I’m alright, dad. Yes, I’m having lunch with Clarke. No, I don’t need you to be there when I come home.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It had gotten tiring, so his only escape had been burying himself in college work. His teachers were very complimentary, and it helped get his mind off of his “stupid teen problems” as he liked to call them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That morning, he had a meeting with Dr. Spalko, his Russian literature professor, to discuss an extra assignment he had decided to take on. He liked the woman and her strange ways of seeing literature, and her essay subjects were always fascinating, but he dreaded the one-on-one encounter. She was as fierce and fearsome as a Soviet officer, though her propensity to kill people was, from what Bellamy knew, a lot tamer. Still, he feared that she would find his questions childish, and his writing unsatisfying. Just as his thoughts were beginning to turn grim, the music in his earphones paused briefly, notifying him that he had received a text. </span>
  <b>Good luck with Spalko :P</b>
  <span>, Clarke had written. He hastily replied with a tentative </span>
  <b>
    <em>Thanks haha</em>
  </b>
  <span> and stuffed his phone back in his pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was trying his best not to put a strain on his friendship with Clarke—though he was heartbroken, she was dear to him, and he wasn’t planning on losing her—but it was hard. She had told him about Lexa, the street artist fate had placed on her path, and he suspected that their connexion went far beyond the “friendship” he heard tales of. At least that brought him some sort of comfort, to know that, if Clarke had fallen for another woman, there was no way he could have even rivaled with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon enough, he was standing in front of Dr. Spalko’s office door, and he knocked firmly before his fear could get the better of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All in all, the meeting went quite well, Bellamy had to admit, but he was also grateful when Dr. Jones put an end to it by opening the door and all but flinging himself into the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Irina, you’ll never guess what I—” Bellamy was almost sure his jaw hit the floor when he saw the look of fondness in his professor’s eyes. He would have guessed she was the type of person to get mad at Jones for interrupting, but she looked at him as if he’d hung the stars in the sky. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were busy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do not apologize,” Spalko said, her heavy accent softened by an undeniable affection, “Bellamy and I were quite finished.” She gave Bellamy a look, and all traces of softness had disappeared from her eyes. “I will see you later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her dismissal couldn’t have been clearer, so Bellamy scampered as quickly as he could manage, mumbling a greeting to the Ancient Arts professor. He rushed through the corridors, a glance at his watch having taught him that he could catch a coffee with Clarke before their morning classes started. He texted her that he was on his way and hurried towards the campus Starbucks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The glass door was fogged up, testifying to the fact that it was indeed a cold day, and that summer was well and gone, and several people looked up from their phones to give Bellamy an icy glare when he let the cold air in. With an apologetic smile, he hurried to close it. Clarke was at their usual table, and she was one of the few people who hadn’t budged at his entrance, so he sneaked up to her, making her jump when he dropped his bag beside the table. She looked up with a start, her brows furrowing into a scolding scowl, before a grin broke onto her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, Bell!” she laughed. Bellamy didn’t have the heart to chastise himself when his heart leaped in his chest. She was radiant, the sun was lighting up her hair, and Bellamy wanted nothing more than reaching out to cup her cheek… but he couldn’t do that. So he’d settle for the next best thing, the thing that brought Clarke and him together in the first place—gossip. Teacher gossip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have some news,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? How’d it go with Spalko?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better than I thought, but listen.” Clarke leaned forward on her stool, something she did when she was interested. Bellamy smiled. “It was getting sort of awkward, I didn’t know if she was done or not, she was reading my paper for the thousandth time… But guess who burst through the door, fully expecting her to be alone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No way!” Clarke’s eyes were sparkling and Bell was sure his heart would burst any minute. It had been so long since she’d looked at him like that. “Jones?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right on. And you should have seen her face! She looked at him like… like he was her sun, her moon, and her entire universe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke let out one of her back-of-the-throat, obnoxiously happy laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus! We were right all along!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we were.” Bellamy had to force himself to look down, because he knew that if he looked her in the eye, his feelings would be as transparent as Spalko’s had been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Speaking of teachers and hidden relationships…” Well, Bellamy knew where this was going. “How are our parents?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcus and Abby were a hot topic for the two of them, as they’d noticed that the state of their relationship often matched (or, more likely, influenced) their moods, and that it made life at home as unpredictable as it got. Bellamy had managed to get some information out of his father—but only that Abby and he were civil, but not friends, and that Bellamy should stop asking questions about her as she was still his teacher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dad’s been quite shut off for the past few days so, if I had to guess, they’re cold again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn it. I thought the same thing, and I was hoping you’d prove me wrong.” Clarke sighed. “Guess both of them got scared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess so. I hope they sort their stuff out sooner rather than later, though, this is getting tiring.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Abby must have shown her students a film, Marcus guessed, because the curtains were drawn and the lights were out, plunging the room in almost-darkness. The only source of light was a ray of golden sun filtering through near the back of the room, and Marcus only had to take two steps forward to find himself in the spotlight. He swallowed hard. Abby, who was at her desk, getting her things in order, turned around and inhaled sharply at the sight of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Abby.” were the only words he managed to get out before his throat constricted again, keeping the air out of his lungs. Two weeks had gone by since he’d told Abby they couldn’t be friends, and each passing day had made it harder to face her without breaking down. That hadn’t stopped him from coming into her room, however, so maybe he could still be saved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Marcus.” Her face, however, was stone-cold, and she looked every bit like the Abby he’d known for the past few years. He suspected—hoped—it was only a facade, but it still hurt. “What can I do for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Alright, Marcus. You can do it.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He was here for a reason, and he had to do it. If not for himself, he had to do it for her. He did care for her, nothing he said or did could change that fact. It was hell crossing her in the hallways and not having a reason to even say hi. So there he was, giving himself a reason, and helping her out in the process. Hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here about the Expo, actually. We haven’t discussed it since that first day, and we’re well into October now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flash of affection in Abby’s eyes was almost worth how stupid and desperate Marcus felt. So he wasn’t mistaken. There </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>something within her that had changed. She just wasn’t willing to act on it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Because you told her not to.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s… surprisingly considerate, Marcus. Thank you.” There it was. Veiled insult. She managed to sneak in more of those now than when they actually hated each other—he knew she didn’t, even now. But she was willing to go out of her way to pretend that she did, which somehow hurt a lot more. “Well, I hate to say this but you’re right. I haven’t been as focused on that as I should have been. Some stuff went down in my personal life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh.” He wasn’t going to give her what she wanted and go down the mean comment road. He wasn’t going to make himself back into the man he’d been for so long. If he wanted things to work out, he had to be better than that. “Sorry to hear that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nonetheless, we should get to it.” She cleared her throat. The silence that followed was one of the heaviest Marcus had ever experienced. He took a few steps towards her and looked around him, desperate for a distraction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abby had started to decorate her room and, while she’d probably pass it off as prepping for the Expo, Marcus knew it meant she was settling. She was settling for a room rather than an amphitheater. She was giving up on the Expo before it had even started to take form. She was giving up, period. He couldn’t deny that it looked great, though. Her usually-empty bookshelf with the glass doors was full of old-looking books, there was a bouquet on her desk—Marcus felt a twinge of jealousy before he told himself that she wouldn’t have brought romantic flowers to college. Right? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see you have an admirer,” he breathed out, fully aware of how unsubtle he was being.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that.” Abby looked sad all of a sudden, making Marcus regret that he asked at all. He wanted to know, though. “No, Clarke said I looked depressed and gave them to me to cheer me up. It’s been a long time since an ‘admirer’ gifted me flowers.” She drew air quotes in the air and Marcus failed to suppress the wistful smile that stretched his lips. So </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>was where Clarke had gotten her signature move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abby was incredibly endearing, and he mentally kicked himself at the thought that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the one who’d ruined their chance at something more. He was the one who’d called the whole thing off, hurt and ashamed as he’d been, and he now bitterly regretted it—but he was far too scared to do anything about it, especially since Abby looked so comfortable playing nemesis with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I hope someone fixes that soon,” he said, only realizing the implication in his words when Abby drew in a sharp breath. No backing out now. “You deserve it, Abby. You really do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about you?” she asked, her eyes betraying the mask of indifference she’d made her face into. “Is there someone you’d buy flowers for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His breath caught in his throat. Were they really going there? Time seemed frozen, and in the half-light, it all seemed eerily dreamlike. If he’d been more of a man, he would have walked up to her and kissed her right there and then, but he was scared out of his mind. She was asking him to say what he’d worked so hard on keeping a secret. And God, he wanted to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, there is.” He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, and his heart was beating faster than that of a hummingbird. “I don’t think I have a shot, though. I… sort of pushed her away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. You seem to be making a habit of that.” And just like that, the spell was broken. Marcus looked at Abby and he could see all the hurt there was between them. He wanted to run, but he also wanted to crush her in a hug. What were they playing at? They were adults, for Christ’s sake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Abby,” he started, crossing his arms to center himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There it goes.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She looked up at him, defiance blazing in her eyes. “What do you say we talk about… the Expo, and everything else… over dinner maybe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abby’s eyebrows shot up to the middle of her forehead. She took a step away from him. Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you out of your mind?” We’ve tried the whole ‘having a meal together’ thing, and what good did it do us? None!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been expecting this reply because, frankly, it was the one he’d have had in her place. But he knew what he wanted, and he highly suspected she wanted it too. He had to try.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but we were at my place. The fact that I was at home made me get too comfy, and we had no witnesses, so we let things get out of hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what do you suggest?” She sounded so sarcastic that, for a minute, Marcus understood how infuriated she’d been by him before everything. Sarcasm in serious conversations wasn’t welcome. Duly noted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A restaurant. You and me on our best behavior, and I’ll book us a place somewhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look on Abby’s face made Marcus want to burst out laughing. Her mouth was slightly agape, and her eyes were wide as plates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marcus Kane, you did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>just ask me on a date!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, I did. What do you say?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Not a date.” As painful as it was, they couldn’t dive straight into dating, right? He wanted to make her feel safe and wanted. Two things he’d spectacularly failed at in the past. “A dinner. A chance for us to make things right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, he thought she was going to refuse. She looked closed off, and a frown knitted her eyebrows together. But, after a while, her face softened, and she offered him a small smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure. It won’t hurt to try, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, it could. It had. But this time, Marcus was determined to do things properly.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You're welcome! Sorry for the delay :( Next chapter will come as scheduled though!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bellamy confronts Clarke about Lexa, and Marcus and Abby have a lot of catching up to do with their friends.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun had barely risen, and already Clarke was awake. She forced herself to slumber for a while longer, knowing it was useless getting up now, but she didn’t manage to fall all the way back to sleep. So, when her clock showed 10:00, she got out of bed, stretched a little and pulled on her clothes. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but she had spent a spectacular amount of time choosing an outfit the night before, something she hadn’t done since her first day of college, well over a year ago. She liked her whole wardrobe and usually put on whatever she grabbed first in the morning, but this morning was special. More special even than she’d care to admit.</p><p>When Lexa had offered that they go on a date, Clarke had immediately said yes. Her instant connection to the beautiful brunette, laced with attraction and affection, had taken her completely by surprise, and she had caught herself daydreaming about dating Lexa approximately three minutes after meeting her. So, of course, she’d said yes. She’d said yes despite how utterly terrified she was to come out to her mother. She’d said yes, even though the look in Bellamy’s eyes every time she mentioned Lexa broke her heart. She’d said yes, and Lexa had captured her lips in what had been the most perfect first kiss Clarke had ever experienced.</p><p>Sleeping beside her had been paradise. Even though she knew both of them were eager to touch, and to discover, they’d held back. They wanted to take things slow, to let their newfound relationship take them to places they weren’t expecting. Besides, it was Clarke’s first time dating a woman, and Lexa had advised her to bridle her urges, in order to avoid a freakout. Seeing how Clarke had reacted to interacting with her mother, she agreed. She felt bad for treating Abby the way she had, but it had been a gut reaction that she’d had no power over. She’d been so scared. She <em> was </em>so scared.</p><p>She shook those thoughts out of her head. She and her mother had made up, Clarke had done really well avoiding to lose it again, and she highly suspected that Abby and Marcus were reconciled as well, because, for the past week, her mother had been less sullen, and she’d gone running more often—an indicator of her good mood. So she’d slip out of the house, get herself to a florist, and spend a wonderful afternoon in Lexa’s company.</p><p>The funfair was in town and, though Lexa had seemed skeptical that Clarke would agree to such a public place, she’d agreed immediately. She loved the thrills that rollercoasters brought her, and it would take the edge off. Because of course she was nervous. Lexa was only two years older than Clarke, but she had far more experience in the matter of dating women. That’s always intimidating. <em> Get it together, Clarke. You’ve dated before. Her gender doesn’t matter </em>. Right. She was going to be fine.</p><p>She grabbed her most practical handbag—she didn’t want to risk dropping anything from several dozen feet in the air—and stuffed her wallet in it. She went to the bathroom and put on her makeup, not too much but just enough for it to feel like a date, and headed to the kitchen. Just like she’d predicted, her mother was at the table, grading papers. Or at least, looking at papers. She knew that look. Abby’s eyes were skimming over the paper, finding solace in the black and white duality of a two-dimensional world.</p><p>Something was bothering her. Fortunately for Clarke, that meant she’d probably miss out on the subtle eyeshadow and the pink chapstick her daughter had put on.</p><p>“Hey, mom,” she said as she sat down. Abby looked up, looking surprised.</p><p>“I didn’t hear you coming, God!” She laughed softly and leaned across the table to land a kiss on her daughter’s cheek.</p>
<hr/><p>Abby suddenly felt elated. It had been that way for a while now, but that particular morning, she really felt it. Her and Clarke were back to normal. Them against the world, come whatever. She knew there was something hidden deep in her daughter’s heart that was keeping them apart at times, but that was bound to happen more and more as time went on. For now, she felt ecstatic at the simple perspective of sharing breakfast with her. And it felt <em> good </em>.</p><p>“I missed you, baby,” she admitted. She knew that what she meant was clear, even though they’d been on good terms again for a while.</p><p>“I missed you too, mom.” Clarke’s smile was soft, and sincere. She looked so much younger when she smiled. Like it was her first day of middle school and her dad was still there, taking a silly polaroid of her. Oh, how she missed those days. How she missed Jake. Although she was at peace with his death, and she liked her life the way it was, there would always be a certain nostalgia for easier days. “I’m sorry about… everything.”</p><p>Abby knew she was. And she was sorry, too. That her daughter felt unable to share everything with her. That Abby’s reaction to that had been anger at first. That she’d let her troubles with Marcus get the better of her. But that wouldn’t happen again. Not even with them mending what remained of their first attempt at friendship.</p><p>She was incredibly nervous. Their business dinner—as Marcus had insisted on calling it—was a week away, and she couldn’t help but think of it as the beginning of their relationship. They’d tried, and failed, to form a bond, and if Marcus was half as smart as she thought him to be, he’d see that honesty was the only way this time around. That had been the conclusion she’d come to these last few days, even if it was hard to think like that on a daily basis.</p><p>They were attracted to each other, they had chemistry. He was funny, and she’d made him laugh too. They’d swapped stories of their past. Most importantly, they were middle-aged teachers, with grown children, who could probably teach each other much more than how to make some French dish. It was time to let go. That was why she’d called Sinclair to schedule a drink later that day. He’d encourage her down that path, she was sure.</p><p>She looked back up at her daughter, who was eating a banana thoughtfully—some things only Clarke Griffin could pull off. She was radiant. Glowing. Literally. Makeup? Now that she thought about it, she looked very put together. She’d put on her high waisted white pants, and a beautiful black v-neck shirt that Abby had only seen her wear once because, according to her, it was “the kind of stuff you wear for a date”.</p><p>“You look good!” she said with a smile. It was rare to see Clarke dress up. “Any reason why you made an effort?” She didn’t want to pry, but it seemed an awful lot like her daughter was going out on a date and hadn’t told her about it. Was that the cause of all the secrecy? Had she found a boy? If that was the case, she was really happy for her. But a part of her, deep down, still cried out in agony at the thought of her little girl being ripped from her. It took all she had not to get to her feet and crush her in a hug.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m going to the funfair with… this guy.” Clarke’s awkward smile was charming. <em> Well, there it is. </em> “His name is Alex, and he’s the guy I met, all those weeks ago.”</p><p>“The boy keeping my daughter from me.” Abby tutted. She wasn’t delighted to learn that, but if he made her happy… who was she to judge? “I’m happy for you, baby.” She took her daughter’s hand and squeezed it tight. Even managed a smile, that grew wider when she realized her first urge had been calling Marcus to tell him about the way it made her feel. Maybe she would, once she was done with these copies. Probably not.</p><p>After a light breakfast and some small talk about college, Clarke looked at the time and took her leave, giving Abby a kiss on the cheek before she left. The smell of her perfume surprised Abby. It was flowery and sugary, and she’d never smelt it on her daughter before. Had she gone shopping without her? That was a first. Clarke usually insisted that her mother accompanied her on all her shopping trips because she got bored so easily otherwise. Was that something else Abby had just lost?</p><p> </p><p>A few hours later, Jacapo and Abby slid into a booth at Jordan's Bar. They rarely went out for drinks, but when they did, they went to Jordan’s. It was cheap, the booze was good and the music was loud enough that they could have private conversations without fearing to be overheard. Abby had favored the bar since she was been a teenager and the owner was Dane Jordan, Rick’s father. Rick had taken over around the time when Clarke was 5, so Abby knew him less than she’d known his father. She did, however, know his son fairly well.</p><p>They shed their coats and got comfy, then Jacapo proposed to go order for them at the bar. When she nodded, he left without asking her what she’d have. How strange. She wanted to follow him out of the booth but she was far too scared to leave her stuff unattended, so she waited for him to come back with whatever he would have ordered her.</p><p>She detailed the bar around her, the bright neon lights giving everything an otherworldly feel. The walls were covered in postcards from all over the world, and she wondered where they’d found them all. From the Sydney Opera to an obscure Russian city, it seemed to her that the whole planet was covered. There were kegs of beer in every single free space, whether it be on the floor or on shelves, and it smelled like it. Weirdly enough though, it wasn’t unpleasant. That was part of the reason she liked this place. Nothing was unpleasant, however unoriginal it might be.</p><p>She heard a door close somewhere above her and the thumping of someone rushing down the stairs, before an excited, gangly young man burst out of the back door. It was Jasper Jordan, Rick’s son. Last time she’d seen him, he’d been training to work at the bar, and he’d apparently succeeded, if the apron he was tying around his waist was anything to go by. She smiled at him, waving in his direction.</p><p>“Hi, Mrs G!” he said with his usual enthusiasm. “Has your order been taken yet?”</p><p>“Jacapo is taking care of that right now, thank you Jasper! Congratulations, by the way,” she said, gesturing to his apron.</p><p>“Thank you! Mom took a little convincing, but my dad was thrilled that I was doing so well, and he let me work earlier than he’d first planned.” His huge grin was endearing. The kid had practically grown up at the bar, and he’d wanted to work there since he’d been 5. He was a few years older than Clarke, and they lived in different parts of town, but she was sure that, had they known each other as kids, they would have been great friends.</p>
<hr/><p>Holding her hand had been tentative, timid, probably the shyest Clarke had ever been. But when Lexa and she found themselves at the top of the world, she didn’t care that she had to wiggle a bit out of her seat to kiss her, their mouths colliding with passion and the sheer excitement of being eighty feet in the air, and when the gondola dropped towards the ground, she was slammed back in her seat and she let out a scream that had Lexa whooping beside her.</p><p>The drop tower had always been her favorite.</p>
<hr/><p>“So,” Jacapo started as he placed a pint of beer in front of her, the amber liquid reflecting the HAPPY HOUR neon sign that blinked on the wall to their left. “What are you here to talk about?”</p><p>“Wait a minute,” Abby said, astonished. “You know my drink order?”</p><p>“Abby, we’ve been friends for nineteen years.” He gave her a small but oh-so smug smile. “Don’t you know mine?” She didn’t, she realized, and she knew it showed in her face. Dammit. She took a sip and it was indeed her favorite beer. Point to him! He did have an amazing memory. But that hardly mattered, and they both knew it, because Jacapo cocked an eyebrow at her as he took a sip of his own pint.</p><p>“I’m having dinner with Marcus next week.” She spat out, certain of her ability to beat around the bush for far too long if she didn’t get it out. Jacapo’s face softened into an almost paternal smile. Was he… proud of her? <em> Well, I’ll be damned. </em> “Not a date, for now at least.” She hadn’t missed Marcus’ remark about the flowers, and she’d been standing there, so she was aware that the tension in that classroom of hers had been thick enough to cut with a butter knife. She knew—highly suspected? hoped? she wasn’t sure—he wanted to take her out, and, to be honest, she was glad he was willing to try again, after all the crap they’d put each other through, especially these past few weeks.</p><p>“For now,” Jacapo repeated, as if he was tasting the words the way one tastes wine. He looked content. “I’m surprised, Abby,” he admitted. “I’m glad, but surprised. Last time we spoke, you were so against the very idea of him, and now look at you. So at ease.”</p><p>She <em> was </em> at ease. She hadn’t really seen that before, but now that he said it… Of course, she was nervous about their dinner. But when she looked beyond that, she saw a world where all the hurt had disappeared between them and they were free to, maybe, if they both wanted to, date. Where had that come from? She was still resentful about him cutting her off the way he had, but it was like she knew she would forgive him. <em> Is there any alternative? </em></p><p>“I guess…” she started, not sure where she was headed. But that was why she liked talking to Jacapo, he helped her get her feelings out when she wasn’t even sure what or why they were. “I like him,” she admitted. That much she was sure of. “We work well together, from what I’ve seen, and he’s charming, really, when he’s not a complete asshole.” Jacapo nodded, encouraging her with an understanding half-smile. “But I’m just so… angry, I guess? He cut me off when I was feeling like shit after Clarke had disappeared, and, I’m ashamed to say it, but I needed him!”</p><p>There it was. Ooh, she hadn’t seen that one coming. She’d needed him, and he’d gone away. Just when she’d started to feel like he was there, in her life, he’d removed himself from it. She knew exactly what Jacapo was about to say before he said it.</p><p>“And that scares you, because your brain was reminded of the way you felt after Jake died.” His eyes seemed to look right through her, into the depths of her heart. She felt so vulnerable, in that instant, that it was like the world didn’t exist outside of their little booth. “Your abandonment issues are nothing new, Abby.” His tone was softer now, and she bit the inside of her cheek. He was trying not to upset her. “But you can’t let them take away more than they already have.”</p><p>“I know.” She looked down at her glass, and the faint taste of beer in her mouth made her a bit sick. She didn’t feel like drinking it anymore.</p><p>“Well…” Jacapo said, looking like he regretted what he’d said. “You can’t ignore them, either. Something traumatic happened to you, and it changed you. No matter how awful that might seem, it’s a fact.” Abby nodded. She knew that. She wasn’t the same as she’d once been, and to pretend otherwise would be madness. “Still, why don’t you try <em> asking </em>Kane why he did what he did?”</p><p>It was the most reasonable solution, but asking implied wanting to hear the answer, and she wasn’t sure she did. It had been so sudden, and so hurtful, and even if he replied that it had been on a whim, it would sting.</p><p>“You know why,” she sighed. “But I’ll try.”</p>
<hr/><p>“I really wish I didn’t have to go,” Clarke said with an apologetic glance to Lexa, who was merrily eating her cotton candy. They’d spent seven hours together, but the afternoon had flown by. Clarke had come to meet Lexa at the restaurant, where she’d had one of the best meals in her life, they’d had to make a detour by Lexa’s apartment so she could put the flowers Clarke had brought her in some water, then had gone on ride after ride at the fair. It had gone by far too quickly for Clarke’s taste, but she’d promised Bellamy she’d have dinner with him that night, and hadn’t realized that the two plans were overlapping until that very morning.</p><p>“It’s alright, Clarke,” Lexa said. Of course she thought it was alright. Lexa was the most relaxed person Clarke had ever met. But to Clarke, it was mortifying to have to go from her sort-of-girlfriend to her best friend. She felt like she was betraying them both. “You told me Bellamy would be upset if you canceled, and I get that.”</p><p>Clarke opened her mouth to protest, but Lexa stuffed some cotton candy in it, effectively shutting her up.</p>
<hr/><p>“Thank you for the chat, Jacapo. I really appreciate it,” Abby said as they parted ways. She breathed in the evening air, and the sweet scent of the nearby flowers, along with the candy pink sky, made her feel a lot better than she had in a while. Things were good. Sinclair gave Abby a big grin that made the corner of his eyes crinkle, and he hugged her tight.</p><p>“This could be it, Abby. Trust yourself,” he whispered in her ear.</p><p>She knew she had to, and though it was easier said than done, she was determined to try. For some reason, her relationship with Kane had become something major in her life, something with tremendous power over what she felt. She had to see it through, no matter what it led to.</p><p>As if on cue, her phone pinged with a new message, and Jacapo smiled.</p><p>“I’ll leave you to it. Good evening, dear.”</p><p>He kissed her cheek and disappeared around the corner, leaving Abby no choice but to take out her phone. As she’d guessed—no one texted her apart from him and Clarke—it was from Marcus.</p><p>
  <b>I booked us a table for next week. Just letting you know you’ll have to dress up.</b>
</p><p>She felt a blush creep up her cheeks. Of course he’d gone fancy. This is Marcus Kane we’re talking about. She stuffed her phone back into her pocket, not wanting to seem too eager, and walked down the block to her car.</p>
<hr/><p>“There you are!” was the greeting Bellamy’s crackling voice gave Clarke when the bus dropped her off at her friend’s house half an hour late. She was ready to blame it on the bus, but when the elevator doors opened on Bellamy’s open arms and she fell into them, she knew she couldn’t lie to him.</p><p>She’d had one of the best days of her life and, more than anything, she wanted to share it all with him. She hugged him back, squeezing as hard as she could until they were forced to part, out of breath and laughing like idiots. Oh, she was glad she’d come.</p><p>They ordered pizza and waited for it watching a new Netflix show, but Clarke found it impossible to focus on the plot. Her heart was threatening to explode because of how fast it was beating, and when the doorbell rang, she jumped in her seat.</p><p>“I’ll get it,” Bellamy said with an amused smirk. He came back a few minutes later with two pizza boxes and they set them on the coffee table, before sitting back down on the couch. She knew there was no way she could put things off any longer. She’d die if she did.</p><p>“Bell, before we put the show back on, there’s something I have to tell you. It’s really big, and you’re the first person I’m telling this, and I hope this doesn’t change anything between us, because—”</p><p>“Hey, hey,” Bellamy interrupted, putting his hand on her knee. “Tell me. Whatever it is, I’m here for you.”</p><p>She had a feeling he knew. She wouldn’t be surprised if he did, she’d been so enthusiastic about Lexa when they’d talked about her—which, admittedly, wasn’t a lot, but still.</p><p>“I went out with Lexa today. Like, on a date.” She couldn’t look him in the eye, she found, so she focused on the blue and red design of Domino’s pizza boxes.</p><p>“Did it not go well?” Bellamy’s voice was gentle, as if careful not to upset her.</p><p>“Yes! Yes it did, why would it not have gone well?” she asked, finally turning around to face him, more curious than scared now.</p><p>“Well, I don’t know, you looked so sad just then.” It was his turn to be confused now, and she let out a nervous laugh. Oh, Bellamy. Of course he would accept her without even a second thought. She leaped onto him and crushed him in the most suffocating bear hug she could manage, a grin stretching her lips without her permission.</p><p>“I was just so scared. It’s the first time I tell anyone that I’m… you know,” she whispered, her face nestled in the crook of his neck.</p><p>“Gay,” he finished for her as they let go. Except… </p><p>“Well, not really. I’ve thought about what label I want to use and stuff, and I still like boys, so I suppose that makes me bi?” she beamed at him, feeling so relieved and liberated that she was sure she was as light as a feather and she could fly if she wanted to. “Oh, Bell,” she sighed happily. “I want to tell you all about it!”</p><p>“Go ahead,” he told her, nodding encouragingly. There was a speck of sadness in his eyes, though, that Clarke didn’t understand.</p>
<hr/><p>Five minutes after Marcus had sent his text to Abby, she still hadn’t replied, so he gave up and put his phone back in his pocket. He was almost glad, in a way, because Indra was due to arrive any minute, and it’d have been so disappointing to strike up a conversation with Abby only to have to tell her he had to go.</p><p>Indra effectively arrived a few seconds later and kissed his cheek. That was a good sign. It meant she wasn’t too angry at him.</p><p>“Hi, Indra,” he said with a smile. First her, then Abby. He was going to make amends. A waitress pointed them to their table and Marcus pulled out Indra’s chair for her. She scoffed at him, snickering.</p><p>“I’m not a tired old lady, Marcus, I can very well pull out my own chair.”</p><p>He smiled at her innocently. He did this every time they went out together, and he knew she hated it, which was why he made it a point to do it.</p><p>“I don’t see what you mean.”</p><p>She’d picked the place, which was unusual, and Marcus found himself in an unknown but wonderful-smelling Lebanese restaurant. He rarely ate Lebanese, because none of his other friends were particularly fond of it, and, up until now, he hadn’t been aware that Indra enjoyed it either. He made a mental note to let her pick their place of meeting more often.</p><p>This particular evening, he’d told her to pick her favorite place, as an apology for ditching her at the Hideaway all those weeks ago, and ignoring her ever since. He wasn’t proud of it, but Indra was blunt, sometimes brutally so, and he’d been scared to face her after everything that had gone down with Abby.</p><p>Once they’d ordered their meal and their drinks, Marcus cleared his throat and took a deep breath in.</p><p>“Well, Indra, I’d like to start this meal off with an apology, which is long overdue.” He smiled at her, but her stern gaze was too hard to withstand, and he took a sip of water. “I left you alone at the Hideaway and then didn’t text you, or call you, or…” he trailed off.</p><p>“Or let me know you were alive in any way?” Indra proposed with a dry smile.</p><p>“That. In hindsight, I regret it, but there’s been some… change, I guess you could say, in my life, and—”</p><p>“Yes,” she interrupted, with a smug smile that made a chill run down Marcus’ spine. “How is dear Abby?”</p><p>Oh. So, that was that. He hadn’t learned to swim and already she was throwing him in the deep end. He hardly felt ready to have that conversation, but he doubted he had a choice.</p><p>“She’s well. I, uh… I invited her to dinner next week.” And now that it was out in the open, he felt less than confident about that idea. “Many things happened, but this is the latest update.”</p><p>“I trust you will catch me up,” Indra said, before cracking a genuine smile. “However vexed I might be by your sudden disappearance, I’m happy for you, Marcus. That lady’s been turning your head for a while now.”</p><p><em> Yeah, I suppose she has. </em> It was hard to pinpoint the moment when Marcus’ aversion for Abby had found this side of affection that he’d found so annoying at first, but he knew he could trace it back to far before he learned about the decline of British Lit. And, of course, what had made the whole ordeal so infuriating was how attracted he’d always been to her. Her body was like a drug and her voice was honey in his ears, even when her words hurt. She was the kindest teacher to her students, and still, she concocted the best insults for him. She’d once ranted for fifteen minutes, comparing him to Mr. Darcy, evoking literary concepts he’d had no previous knowledge of, only to end it with a furious “and you’ll never get your Elizabeth Bennet”. That was the duality of Abby Griffin, the woman with whom, despite everything, he’d fallen in love with.</p><p>“Marcus?” Indra snapped his fingers in front of his eyes, but he only saw a vague blur. There was a ringing in his ears, and he wasn’t sure where it was coming from, but it drowned out the rest of Indra’s sentence. He tried to speak but found himself unable to form a coherent thought.</p><p>After what seemed like a lifetime of stunned silence, all he could manage to get out was:</p><p>“I’m in love with her.”</p>
<hr/><p>“No, I get that you’re happy, Clarke, I just—”</p><p>“Yeah, I got it. You don’t like her,” Clarke said, trying her best not to burst into tears. How could things have gone so wrong? Bellamy had been so supportive, so open, and she’d been so happy—but his face had hardened with every word she said, and he’d ended up interrupting her, saying that Lexa was a bad influence. Where <em> that </em>had come from, Clarke had no idea.</p><p>She stuffed all of the little things she’d scattered around the place back into her handbag, which she slung over one shoulder, before facing Bellamy with all the determination she could muster.</p><p>“I really thought I could count on you, Bell. Call me if you change your mind.”</p><p>She raced out the door as fast as she could, not wanting to give him the chance to catch up to her. She felt utterly lost. If <em> Bellamy </em> didn’t <em> accept </em>her, how could she expect to be able to tell her mother, or anyone else? When she arrived at the bus stop, her tears started spilling, and she slid to the ground, not caring about the old man glaring at her from across the street, or the dirt that would inevitably stain her white pants.</p><p>Bellamy had punched a hole through her chest, and it was hard to breathe.</p>
<hr/><p>If he’d arrived home just a few minutes earlier, Marcus would have seen a disheveled, wretched Clarke board the bus that would take her home, but fate had willed the traffic lights to keep him at a halt for a bit too long, and, when he arrived in his apartment, his brain struggled to process the juxtaposition of the pizza smell and the deserted living room.</p><p>“Bell?” he called out. There was no response.</p><p>He knew Bellamy had invited Clarke over, and he’d expected to come home to them, given the fact that Indra liked to dine at 6 and he’d gotten home fairly early, but there was no trace of his son or the blonde Griffin anywhere. That was probably for the best, as he wasn’t sure he was ready to face Clarke after the realization he’d had about her mother. Oh God, he was getting himself into an inextricable mess.</p><p>It had felt so good to talk about Abby with Indra. It had helped him make sense of things. Still, the situation remained unchanged. He had to win Abby over, he had to make things right with her, and make her see what they could be. He hoped she saw it too.</p><p>An urge to call his mother suddenly overwhelmed him—he hadn’t called her in ages, and he felt the need to tell her about everything that had gone down lately—and he took out his phone, but just before his finger pressed the call button, a loud sob echoed in the empty house. It was coming from Bellamy’s room. <em> Shit. </em></p><p>A thousand scenarios played out in his mind, each worse than the other, but the one that stood out terrified Marcus the most. <em> He made his move with Clarke. </em> He took off his jacket and laid his phone on the kitchen island.</p><p>He knocked softly at Bellamy’s door.</p><p>“Go away.” His son’s voice was so weak, and broken, that Marcus felt tears coming to his own eyes. Bellamy never cried. For him to sound like that, something seriously disastrous must’ve happened.</p><p>“Not happening,” he said, willing his voice to be much more firm than he was feeling.</p><p>He pushed the door open, to find his son sitting by his bed, head in his hands. Without a word, he walked over to him and sat beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders.</p><p>“I fucked up, dad.” Bellamy sobbed, not reacting to his father’s touch. “Really bad.”</p><p>“Tell me.” Usually, that request was met by blunt refusal, but this time, Bellamy sniffled and wiped his eyes, as if trying to compose himself.</p><p>“Clarke met someone.” That much, Marcus knew. It’d been a while, though Bellamy hadn’t talked to him about the mystery person since that very first day. “They’re dating.” He sounded defeated.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Bellamy.” First loves were always hard to live when they weren’t reciprocated. <em> Not only first loves. </em>“You said you messed up. What did you do?”</p><p>“It’s a girl,” he replied, almost choking on his words. Marcus’ breath caught in his throat. Oh. “I knew that from the beginning, and I told myself, if Clarke likes women, then it’s not my fault she doesn’t like me. Turns out, she also likes men. Just not me.” All of this was said precipitately, as if Bellamy was ashamed to admit any of it. Marcus understood the pain his son was in. He’d probably been comforting himself with the gay excuse for a while, and for it to be torn down… “You should’ve seen her, dad. She looked so happy.” Tears started falling down his face again. “And I fucked it up.” A strangled noise in the back of his throat forced him to stop talking and he sobbed silently for a while, his tears dripping down his chin and onto the floor. Marcus wanted to take him in his arms and rock him gently, like he used to when he was a baby. But he wasn’t a baby anymore, and he knew a hug wouldn’t be welcome.</p><p>“I’m sure you did your best to react as appropriately as you could, Bell, but it’s not always—”</p><p>“I got angry.” Bellamy’s voice was suddenly cold. Bitter. As if, in that instant, there was no one on this earth he hated more than himself. “I don’t know what happened. She looked so scared to tell me, and I tried to be nice about it, I was happy for her, and then I just flipped, and I started telling her that Lexa was a bad influence, and that she shouldn’t see her, and all those horrible, horrible things, I…” he trailed off, and let his head fall against Marcus’ chest. So, Lexa was her name.</p><p>He didn’t really know what to tell Bellamy. There was no diminishing the impact that his words had probably had on Clarke. <em> Yeah, you fucked up. </em> But still, the fact that he felt so terrible about it all was a good start.</p><p>“You have to call her. You have to apologize.”</p><p>“I did. She won’t answer my calls. I get it. I wouldn’t either.” He sounded so tired. “I think I’ve lost her, dad.” His voice cracked, and he buried himself in Marcus’ arms, sobbing uncontrollably. “I love her and I’ve lost her.”</p><p>Oh well. Apparently, hugging and gentle rocking were exactly was Bellamy needed. Marcus indulged him. Once Bellamy was able to form a full sentence without breaking down, they’d go to the kitchen. He’d make him grilled cheese, and they’d watch a stupid TV show. They would see this through.</p><p> </p><p>Late that night, when even Netflix was unsure whether they were still watching Friends or not, Bellamy turned to his dad with a mischievous smile. Oh, if the mischief was back, then Bellamy felt a lot better.</p><p>“Word amongst the students is that you have gone, or are going to go on a date with Abby Griffin. Care to confirm or deny?” His voice was innocent, but his eyes were sparkling with laughter.</p><p>“How the hell do you even know that?” Marcus scoffed. University was a horrible, horrible place, where it was impossible to keep a secret for more than two minutes.</p><p>“Monty Green heard you asking her.”</p><p>“Well, if he’d listened properly, he’d have known that it wasn’t a date.” Goddamned students and their young, well-functioning ears. “Abby and I are going on a business dinner. To discuss our project.”</p><p>“But you want it to be a date.” Suddenly, Bellamy’s voice was more serious, and Marcus smiled. They knew each other far too well.</p><p>“I can’t confirm nor deny that. Now shut up, I wanna know if Phoebe’s pregnant.”</p><p>Oh, the day when Bellamy would move out would sting. He loved their life, and he loved his son more than anything on God’s green Earth. His phone pinged, earning him a playful “Shh!” from Bellamy. He unlocked his phone and was unable to stop his smile.</p><p>New message from: Abby Griffin.</p><p>
  <b>Alright, I’ll dress up. As long as I get to see you in a bow tie.</b>
</p><p>His heart started beating a little faster. Was she… flirting with him? And now that she’d requested it, was there any other option for him than going out to buy a bow tie at the first occasion he got?</p><p>
  <b> <em>Obviously. What else am I going to wear? A tie?</em> </b>
</p><p>The small grey bubbles dancing on his screen taunted him with the promise of a long reply, and he waited. After a while, he locked his phone again, wondering what the hell she’d come up with that requested her to write him a novel.</p><p>The place he’d picked them was the fanciest place in all of Tulsa that he could afford—barely. He was determined to make an impression, but now, at the thought of Abby Griffin all dressed up to go to dinner with him, he wondered which of them would be the one to make an impression. He couldn’t wait. His phone pinged again.</p><p>New message from: Abby Griffin.</p><p>
  <b>:D</b>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is time for a two-week hiatus! Don't worry, I'm not just saying that, I <em>will</em> be back :)<br/>Thank you all for reading and commenting!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Abby and Marcus go on a business dinner. The way it ends is as far from professional as can be.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two hours. It had taken her two hours to get ready. Most mornings, she was ready in under ten minutes, twenty when she made an effort. But this evening, she’d spent two hours running from the bathroom to her bedroom for one Marcus Kane. It had been ages since she’d dressed up for… pretty much anything. She’d taken Clarke shopping a few days prior and had splurged a little—her daughter had assured her that it was okay to spend some money on herself. She was really happy with the result and had come home that night with a beautiful gown, even though, now with the makeup and the high heels, she exceeded her own expectations by far. She would never have thought that she could look that good.</p><p>The last time she’d looked in the mirror and barely recognized what she saw was on her wedding day, over seven years ago. A flush crept up her neck when she thought of why she looked like that in the first place. She’d texted him a worried <b> <em>When you say dressed up, you mean it, right? Not an exaggeration?</em> </b> beforehand, and he’d replied with a smug <b>Two Michelin stars and a week-long waiting list. Dress like you’re meeting with the Queen of England.</b> She hadn’t quite obeyed that last order, as she doubted her dress would have a thigh-high slit were she meeting the Queen, but she was really pleased with how she looked, and she felt sexy for the first time in forever. She felt good. <em> Plus </em> , she thought as she let her dress slide off her left leg, <em> all that running has paid off. </em></p><p>All in all, she was thrilled to be going out with Marcus. It was supposed to be a business dinner, and there was bound to be a moment of awkwardness when they both decided to apologize, but it was a start. A start to what, only the future would tell, and Abby wasn’t about to get her hopes up, but she was glad he’d proposed this first step. It made it easier for her to imagine the next.</p><p>She looked down at her left hand and the simple gold band that had been here for almost seven years. What to do with it? In the first years, it had been unthinkable for her to take it off, but, for the past few years, she had started to wonder if she should move it to her right hand, as widows often did, or remove it altogether. She hadn’t been very interested in dating before finding a connection with Marcus, but she was aware that keeping the ring on her left hand sent the message that she still considered herself married to Jake. And lately, that… just wasn’t the case anymore. She realized with a twinge of sadness that she’d never gotten around to dusting that picture of him on her desk. Jacapo would have told her it was a subconscious choice—<em> and he would be right </em>. Her throat tightening, she took off the ring for the first time since she’d first slipped it on and put it on her right ring finger. She slowly exhaled, her breath a bit shaky. So… that was that.</p><p>She opened her jewelry box—a miniature chest that Raven had brought her back from Mexico. Now was the hardest part. Jewelry could make an outfit perfect or ridiculous. She had to choose well. While she looked through her necklaces, she wondered, once more, what the night would be like.</p><p>She’d been vaguely aware of there being a two-Michelin-stars restaurant in Tulsa; she was fairly sure the chef in question was a man called Dante Wallace—she remembered his name because of the writer. However, she had never set foot in it and wasn’t sure she’d ever even driven past it. She’d never gone to a fancy restaurant in her life. Of course, she’d been to nice restaurants, but this one looked far too expensive for either Jake or her to have afforded it back in the day. And, in the years since then, no rich bachelor had invited her, so. She didn’t even know how <em> Marcus </em> would afford it. <em> Oh, God. </em> A nervous tremble took over her body and she started laughing uncontrollably, so hard that she could only take in air in short gasps. Clarke, who’d been passing by in the corridor, popped her head into Abby’s bedroom to see what was going on. For a few seconds, Abby was only able to shake her head at her daughter, giggling breathlessly.</p><p>“Mom, come on,” Clarke said, rolling her eyes, although she was starting to chuckle.</p><p>“It’s just that I…” Abby breathed in deeply, successfully ending her laughter, but failing miserably to stop grinning like an idiot. “I assumed Marcus would pay, but he never said he would! What if he expects me to pay for my meal?” Her grin suddenly turned to a horrified grimace as she realized what she was saying. “I can’t afford that place!”</p><p>“Oh, God, mom. Well, call him, right?” Clarke shook her head disapprovingly, but she was still smiling. “You look amazing, by the way. It’s like you’re going to a red carpet.”</p><p>“Thank you, darling.”</p><p>Their relationship, though reaching for comfortable, was still a bit strained, especially since Clarke had had a fight with Bellamy and refused to tell Abby was it had been about. She suspected it was the same thing that had bothered Clarke for a while now. For some reason, it all seemed linked. Maybe it had to do with that guy Alex, that Clarke was dating. Bellamy was bound to be jealous, what with the feelings he had for Clarke. She hoped her daughter would tell her about it someday.</p><p>She was reacting well to the idea of her mother going out with Marcus Kane, though, even if it was just for a business dinner—the more she said those words, the less believable they became. It was true that the idea had been brought about by the dire need to do something about the Expo, but, for some reason, she knew that wouldn’t be the main topic of conversation.</p><p>She was determined not to end up in bed with him for as long as she could force herself to put it off. Marcus was known for sleeping around, no strings attached, and while she respected that lifestyle, she had no intention of being just another notch on his bedpost.</p><p>“Call him, mom. Don’t put it off!” Clarke said from the corridor, interrupting her thoughts, and she blushed.</p><p>She was right. Abby took out her phone and dialed Marcus’ number. He picked up on the fourth ring.</p><p>“Hey, Abby.”</p><p>“Hi.” For a moment, she was unable to say anything else, the nerves getting the best of her. This was the man she would be going out with in less than an hour, and she’d just been thinking about (not) being in bed with him. Her heart was racing.</p><p>“Is everything alright?” Marcus asked, and Abby smiled, because his voice was genuinely worried.</p><p>“Yes. Well…” she hesitated. “This is a bit embarrassing.”</p><p>“Probably not the most embarrassing thing I’ll have heard you say, anyway,” he chuckled, and she laughed with him. It was true.</p><p>“I just realized that I’d been assuming you were inviting me tonight, and that maybe it wasn’t the case, but, you know, I can’t really afford—”</p><p>“Oh, no, I’m inviting you,” he interrupted her, matter-of-factly. She shut her mouth, not knowing how to react to that knowledge. She’d been expecting him to for a while now, but she was just now realizing the implications of it. Several hundreds of dollars would be spent tonight, and he was doing that for <em> her </em> . For <em> her </em> project, to help <em> her </em> , to spend time with <em> her </em>. “We’re still meeting there at 7:30, right?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, I’m not trying to be late for a reservation at that place,” Abby replied, smiling, though her throat was tight. She was so grateful, in that instant, that she felt like she’d kiss him the moment she’d see him.</p><p>“Alright, well, I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ll be waiting for you in the lobby.”</p><p>“I’ll be waiting for <em> you </em>.”</p><p>He chuckled again, and hung up. Abby let out a slow breath. Even though she felt positively ill with nerves, she couldn’t wait. This evening was when their relationship shifted. The inevitability of it made it thrilling. She wasn’t scared they’d mess it up, because they’d done that one too many times already, and neither of them wanted to watch a rerun of their first meal together.</p><hr/><p>The 56 Chevrolet came to a screeching halt in the parking lot, and Marcus smiled. Abby, always so competitive. He’d only just arrived and locked his car as he walked towards hers. Her red and white car had been the first thing he’d seen of her, and it still looked as shiny and new as it did four years ago, and as it probably did back in 1956. He’d always wondered where she’d managed to find such an old car in such a good state. Maybe tonight was the day he’d find out. He stopped a few feet behind the car, not wanting to be overbearing, and the driver door opened slowly. Abby emerged from it, and Marcus’ heart stopped.</p><p>She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, there was not a shadow of a doubt in his mind about that. She’d always been gorgeous, but she’d never looked as inhumanly beautiful as she did tonight.</p><p>Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but there were loose strands framing her face, as if she was daring him to tuck them back, and her wide eyes were enlarged by a thin line of eyeliner and full, long eyelashes. But, sue him, her face wasn’t all that he noticed—considering her small smirk, she was aware of it. Her body was wrapped in a long red dress that went down to her ankles, and the off-the-shoulder bodice was skintight, hugging her every curve and pushing her breasts up. When she took a step towards him, he noticed the slit running up the dress, up to the top of her thigh, and his resolve to spend a professional evening wavered. Her legs were long and tan, and elegantly curved by the impossibly high black heels she was wearing. (A/N: head to <a href="https://twitter.com/uponanightsky/status/1255928717307764740">Twitter</a> to see Abby's evening getup!)</p><p>“Hey there,” she said, and suddenly she was standing inches from him, and maybe it was his mind imagining things, but her voice was husky, and he could smell her perfume, heady and sweet, emanating from her skin. “So you did wear a bow tie.” She felt the thing in question with the tip of her fingers, as light as a feather, stealing the air from his lungs. </p><p>“Hi,” he replied, his voice not much more than a whisper. “Of course I did.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek—she let out a soft gasp, and he smiled. “Shall we go in?”</p><p>She nodded and he offered her his arm, which she took with a smile. He had a feeling that both of them were acting much more confident than they felt, but wasn’t that what seduction was all about? Though, in his case, he was already seduced. Smitten—that was the word.</p><p>They walked into the lobby, and the attendant smiled politely at them, as a coat check clerk came and asked them for their coats, but neither of them were wearing one—Marcus had deemed his suit jacket to be enough, but Abby had come bare-armed. He smiled when he thought that he’d probably lend her his jacket at the end of the night. Maybe that’s what she’d intended.</p><p>“Reservation for Dr. Kane,” he announced, and he heard Abby stifle a laugh behind him. He always made his reservations as a doctor, because what was the point of having a Ph.D. if you couldn’t do that?</p><p>“Yes, Dr. and Mrs. Marcus Kane. Welcome to Le Septième Ciel. Delilah here will be your waitress for tonight, and will take you to your table.”</p><p>“It’s actually Dr. and Dr.,” Marcus said, vaguely annoyed by the sexist assumption the attendant had made, then he turned to Delilah, a young woman with a small smile. “We’re ready.”</p><p>He heard the attendant splutter an apology, but they’d already walked through the door, and he smirked, satisfied with himself. He turned to Abby, who looked at him with a smile, and shook her head. If it had been up to him, he’d have her pinned against the very expensive-looking woodwork that lined the walls. She looked entirely indecent, and keeping his hands to himself was proving to be a more difficult task than he’d planned on. He was handsome, he cleaned up well and he knew it; he’d never had trouble bringing women into his bed, but the emotional weight of this dinner, combined with how ravishing Abby looked, made him feel as timid as a boy on his first date.</p><p>The restaurant was far from crowded, but there were already four or five couples and a party of a dozen that seemed to be on a business dinner—<em> as am I </em>.  Delilah walked them over to the far end of the room, to a table that was somehow isolated from the rest by a beautiful wooden folding screen. Marcus nodded appreciatively; he’d asked for a more intimate table, and they’d provided. Delilah waited for them to sit and produced two menus from her apron.</p><p>“Can I get you something to drink while you make your choice?” she proposed. Her voice was soft and poised, and Marcus was impressed by her. To end up so young in such a high-end restaurant, and to be as professional as she was, was remarkable.</p><p>Marcus was determined not to drink more than a glass of wine, after the debacle that had been their last time drinking together, and he hoped Abby stuck to that too—but she wasn’t an alcoholic in any respect, so he wasn’t too worried.</p><p>“Just water, for now, thank you,” Abby said, shooting him a knowing look. So they were on the same wavelength. Excellent.</p><p>Delilah nodded and left them to their menus. After she was gone, Marcus leaned forward, boring his eyes into Abby’s. The golden lights that lit up the room reflected in her eyes, lighting them up like a wildfire. It matched her jewelry.</p><p>“Thank you for correcting him back there. That was nice,” Abby said in a hushed voice. She was smiling, and he felt a burst of pride in his chest.</p><p>“Well, you know, you got a Ph.D., and that’s nothing small, so they should appreciate it!” He’d been through the process of getting one himself, and he’d worked too hard not to whip the title out at every occasion he got.</p><p>“Can I just point out though, that you corrected him on that but not on the fact that I’m not actually your wife?” She was grinning now, with that teasing sparkle in her eyes that he loved so much. But, however adorable she might have looked, her words themselves were horrifying. Had he really called her his wife?</p><p>“Did he… did he say that?” he asked hesitantly, hoping with all he was that she was making fun of him.</p><p>“Yeah. He said ‘Dr. and Mrs. Marcus Kane’.” She was still smiling, so she wasn’t mad, but he felt ashamed not to have picked up on the obvious mistake.</p><p>“God, I didn’t even notice,” he mumbled, running his hand through his hair—remembering too late that he’d styled it carefully and that he’d probably just messed it up. “Shit, how’s my hair?” he asked, and his alarmed tone made Abby laugh, which made him feel warm. He loved to be able to make her laugh.</p><p>“It’s fine,” she replied. “More than fine, actually. You look amazing like that.” The compliment just rolled off her tongue like it was nothing, but Marcus felt like he was about to burst. “Let me just…” She reached out to him, arranging a few strands of hair—there seemed to be a theme in the intimate gestures that they allowed themselves to have—, then sat back and smiled wide, biting her lip. “You look great.”</p><p>As he was about to compliment her back, the light caught on the hand that had been in his hair a few seconds ago. Her wedding ring sat on her ring finger, the gold shining dimly on her skin. It was her right hand, he realized with a start. For as long as he’d known her, she’d worn it on her left hand, a reminder that she’d promised herself to a man, even if he’d passed away. He was sure that the change was recent—the last few days, at most. Had she moved it for him? The urge to ask was so strong that, instead of the compliment he’d meant to give her, what came out was:</p><p>“You’ve moved your wedding ring.”</p><p>“Yes. Yes, I have. It felt right,” was all the answer she gave him, never losing her smile.</p><p>Marcus detailed her face. The subtle crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes, witnesses to a few decades spent laughing, her straight nose, her thin lips that he’d spent so much time kissing in his dreams… He knew every inch of her face by heart, and yet it seemed to him that he saw her for the very first time.</p><p>“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed out. Her face turned shy all of a sudden, and he smiled. It was true. She was utterly, perfectly, beautiful.</p><p>“We should probably choose what we’re eating,” she replied with a bashful smile.</p><p>“Well, I read that the French steak is to die for!” Though he was a bit disappointed to see her shift gears, he was also glad to have a conversation where not every word was heavy with implication. “It’s basically steak, but prepared in a rustic French way, from what I’ve seen.”</p><p>“Why is everything you eat French?” Abby asked with a laugh.</p><p>“I don’t…” He hadn’t even realized that. “I suppose that I’m fond of French cuisine, yes.” He chuckled along with her. “But I’ll be having that. What about you?”</p><p>“Hey, I trust you!” she said with a smile, though her tone seemed to warn him that, if it sucked, he’d be the one to blame.</p><p>“That means a lot.” It did. That she could say those words without stuttering, even for a joke.</p><hr/><p>Abby smiled. She understood what he meant. He still thought she felt unsafe with him, and she’d done nothing to refute that, not yet. Doing so would mean getting into the heavy conversation part of the evening—no doubt the reason he’d asked for a more private table—and she didn’t want to dive into that just yet. Let her just savor the moment, the man sitting in front of her, and the fanciest restaurant she’d probably ever set foot in. She hadn’t missed the very telling fact that he’d noticed she’d moved her wedding ring, and the look of hope in his eyes that he hadn’t been able to hide, or the way he looked at her like she was the only woman on earth; she guessed her dress had had the intended effect. He wanted her, but she didn’t know how far it went—she wasn’t even sure what <em> she </em>wanted. </p><p>He certainly looked the part; he was wearing a three-piece charcoal suit, with a white shirt and a black bow tie, and he’d gone all the way with a red pocket square (which matched her dress, as if fate had willed them to coordinate) and a golden pocket watch chain adorning his waistcoat. He’d left the jacket on his chair when they’d arrived and his ruffled up hair and fitting shirt were looking back at her, taunting her. He looked like sex on legs, and she was fairly sure he knew it.</p><p>They ordered and their meals arrived not long afterward—the French steak really was delicious. They spent the next hour chatting about university and their respective projects with the students, their bucket lists, the struggles of being a single parent of a young adult, and Marcus ended up asking:</p><p>“How’s Clarke, by the way?” The worried frown he’d adopted made Abby think he knew more than he was letting on.</p><p>“She’s good. She’s had a rough week,” she replied simply, gauging his reaction. He nodded deeply and gave her a half-hearted smile.</p><p>“Bellamy has been miserable about what happened.” And apparently, Marcus wasn’t too proud of him either, given the look on his face. What the hell had the kid done?</p><p>“Well, enlighten me, because I have no idea what happened. Clarke won’t tell me.”</p><p>“I don’t think it’s my story to tell, Abby, I’m sorry.” He really did look sorry, she noticed, his mouth was twisted in the sad half-smile that she’d come to know all too well, and she tried her best not to worry too much. There was nothing she could do, not tonight, and Clarke hadn’t looked miserable, though she could tell something was off. This was something she could deal with later. “But, for what it’s worth, you can tell Clarke that Bellamy is really sorry.”</p><p>She knew she wouldn’t. This was between Bellamy and Clarke, he was still her student, and besides, Clarke didn’t want her involved in all of this.</p><p>“I’m sure they’ll sort it out,” she smiled, hoping she was right. For now, there was an issue she could sort out herself, and she wanted to do it. “Marcus, I know we’ve been carefully avoiding the topic, but we do have to talk about it.”</p><p>“Talk about what?” Marcus said, his mouth half-full, and Abby smiled. He could be such a child. She willed her face to stay as straight as possible, though, as she formed the sentence that would decide the rest of the evening.</p><p>“Why did you shut me out?” she asked, hating the way her heart immediately started racing, and the white fear that took over her chest.</p><p>Every possible variation of fear crossed Marcus’ eyes, and he stayed silent for a long time. Was he gathering his thoughts? Or was he pondering whether to leave or not?</p><p>“I felt that I would rather shut you out, than have you pretend that you appreciate my company,” he finally replied, his voice strained, as if he had physically forced the words out.</p><p>“I wasn’t pretend—” He didn’t let her finish, raising a hand in the air. He was looking down at his plate, and he looked like he was about to throw up, so she let him finish.</p><p>“Obviously, I came to my senses. I… I get it Abby. That you felt unsafe, I mean. Alcohol makes you lose control over yourself, and it’s scary, even when you’re used to it.” He looked up and tried his best to look her in the eyes. “I’m sorry for cutting you off, especially at a time when you were so vulnerable. I should have been there for you. It wasn’t me you didn’t feel safe with, I get that now. Besides, you wouldn’t be here with me if you weren’t willing to… make something out of us.”</p><p>And suddenly, her heart was racing for entirely different reasons. The golden light around them seemed to turn into a spotlight, putting him center stage. She wanted him, he wanted her, and why should there be anything in their way? It was like something clicking in her brain as she realized how much they’d pushed each other away, and for what? Because they’d been scared. But she wasn’t scared anymore. And she knew… for the first time in forever, she knew what she wanted.</p><p>“Well, I really appreciate that you apologized. I admit I was gutted, but I understand why you did it, at least partially. I’m sorry, too, for not making myself clear.” She let out a slow breath, collecting herself. He was looking at her with big, hopeful eyes, and she knew that she had to do what her heart wanted her to do, for once. “And I do want to build something with you, Marcus.” She wanted to build something worthwhile, and she saw flashes of a future mapped out ahead of her, so far it should have scared her, but she couldn’t help feeling like it was <em> right </em>. “Say something?”</p><p>“Well,” he started with a huff and a small smile. “All I can say is that if I was a more… ballsy man, I would stand up.” She nodded with a smile, encouraging him to see his thought through. Though, if she was honest with herself, she knew exactly where he was headed. “I’d tell you to stand up too.” His tone was confident, but his eyes were shy, and Abby put her hand over his where it was resting on the table. She stroked little circles on his thumb with her own. He glanced down at their hands briefly and his mouth twitched, the smallest of smiles ghosting over his lips. How the hell did this feel as natural as it did? It was like they’d been two magnets, desperate to meet each other, but kept apart by a curious child. “I’d cup your cheek, and I’d ask you if I could kiss you.”</p><p>“And since we both know I’m the ballsy one…” Abby started, standing up. She was scared, but also not. Everything was out in the open now, and, for better or for worse, there was no going back. She took a step so she’d be standing beside his chair, and cocked an eyebrow as she looked down at him. “Would you mind standing up?” Marcus stood up slowly, locking eyes with Abby. She noticed his hands were shaking slightly, and she put one of hers on his neck, sighing softly at how soft his hair was. <em> God, his eyes are beautiful. </em> How many times had she almost lost her self-control by staring into those pools of brown? “Can I kiss you?” she whispered, and their faces were already so close that the mere act of speaking made their lips brush, setting her whole body on fire.</p><p>“Please,” he replied, his hands finding their way to her waist, pulling her closer.</p><hr/><p>Any doctor probably would have told Marcus to pull away from Abby right this instant, because his heart was beating at least five times faster than it should have. Abby’s dress was soft and silky underneath his fingers, and her breath was hot on his lips. Her eyes were burning with that fiery passion that he’d once found ridiculous—though hadn’t it been just a playground defense mechanism so that he was able to ignore how much he wanted her, in every way?</p><p>She leaned forward and their lips touched, and Marcus had to shut his thoughts up, because goddammit, did it really feel like fireworks were going off inside of him. Their mouths remained closed for a while, and only their hands moved, his grip on her tightening, and her fingers pulling on his hair a little. When she opened her mouth slightly, just slightly, he felt like surely that’s what heaven was like.</p><p>He heard footsteps approaching, and Abby must’ve heard them too, because they jumped apart in perfect synchronicity, just in time to see Delilah walk around the corner of their wooden screen. For a comically long time, the three of them stood there, exchanging embarrassed looks, before Abby sat down, Marcus following suit.</p><p>“We’re very sorry,” she said, offering the most convincing contrite smile that Marcus had ever seen (and he was a teacher <em> and </em>a father). He knew her too well to fall for it, though.</p><p>“No, I’m sorry,” Delilah replied, and Marcus felt bad for the girl; her eyes were too easy to read—she was scared they would complain and get her fired. “I should have announced my arrival.”</p><p>“I don’t see how you could have done that,” Marcus piped up. “Besides, we were the ones whose behavior was inappropriate. So, again, we’re very sorry.” He smiled at her, as warmly as he could manage given how awfully abashed he was.</p><p>Delilah thanked him and informed them she had come to ask them if they’d be having dessert, which both of them declined with a polite smile. Marcus couldn’t stop himself from gasping softly, however, when Abby announced casually that they’d be having a different kind of dessert and shot him a wink. Poor Delilah’s cheeks immediately darkened and Marcus was sure he had a pretty bad case of blushing as well. Was that really what Abby had in mind? Whatever the answer to that was, one thing was sure; she really was the ballsy one.</p><p> </p><p>Twenty minutes and a bill that Marcus refused to let Abby see later, the pair of them was once again standing in the parking lot. They walked to Abby’s car in silence, and stopped near it, neither of them making a move to leave. After a minute, Marcus noticed she was shivering, and, as he’d predicted, he wrapped her in his jacket. What he hadn’t anticipated was that, however enticing she might have been in her dress, seeing her wearing his jacket was ten times sexier. If that was even possible.</p><p>He pulled her to him and their lips crashed together. There was no shyness in the way her lips parted, inviting him in, and her body was flush against his. He could feel her every curve, her breasts squashed against his chest, her thigh pressing against his cock, and her hands in his hair… he could have taken her right there and then, he thought, and it was that very thought that made him pull away from her.</p><p>“Would you like to come home with me?” he asked, and he winced at how hoarse his voice sounded. No woman had ever had that effect on him, not even Aurora, all those years ago, when he was but a hormonal teen.</p><p>“Thank God you asked,” she replied, before kissing him again, just a peck on the lips, followed by a kiss on his cheek, on his jaw, on his neck. “I’d love nothing more,” she added, whispering against his ear. He could feel himself getting hard, and cursed the effect she had on him. It was getting embarrassing, really. But then she nipped at the tender skin under his ear and he groaned, all thoughts of restraint threatening to fly out the window at the next touch of her lips.</p><p>“If you want us to make it in one piece,” he mumbled, “you have to stop this. I won’t be able to drive.” It was so hard to ask her to stop, but he was positive he would be too high to drive if they went any further; not that the thought of them having sex in this very parking lot wasn’t the dirtiest and sexiest thought he could conjure, but he didn’t want his first time with her to be fast and rough.</p><p>Abby did as she was told, pulling back faster than he would have deemed humanly possible, and immediately Marcus felt cold. It was stupid, really, like a sexed-up placebo, but it was like his body was crying out for her. She looked as heavenly as ever, and her kisses were so much more than he’d dreamt them to be. In honor of that, he pulled her in one last time and pressed his lips to hers, feverishly, his tongue sliding against hers, and it was hot and wet and every bit as overwhelming as the rest of her had been.</p><p>“Do you want me to take my car, or…?” Abby asked, and her voice was rough, too, the way it had been the previous winter, when she’d been fighting off that nasty cold. It had been a hard week for Marcus because her cheeks had been perpetually flushed, her voice husky, she’d smelled like cinnamon from all the tea she’d been drinking, and she literally emanated warmth. She’d been grumpy, but playful, and if he really put his mind to it, he was almost sure it had been the first time he’d felt like, in another life, he could have been friends with her. All in all, sick Abby was one of his favorites, not that he’d ever admit it to her. “Because I’m not sure that’s a safe bet right now.”</p><p>So, neither of them were in a state to drive. Perfect. He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards his own car, a much more ordinary (while still far too expensive for his taste) Volvo, that a rich friend of his had gifted him to celebrate his moving to Tulsa, as well as a “small” gift of a hundred thousand dollars, to help him settle. He’d tried to refuse, but, well, Cage had the means and the ego to make such gifts. It had been a while since Marcus had heard from him, though. He made a mental note to call his old friend the next day, before turning his attention back to Abby. </p><p>She was leaning against the passenger side, smiling at him with a cocktail of implications that he’d never seen in her. The thrill of a car trip alone with her, especially wearing what she was, made a buzz invade his body from head to toe as he let them into the car and turned on the ignition.</p><hr/><p>Abby could barely believe what was happening to her. Hadn’t she been the one thinking that she should keep away from Marcus’ bed for as long as she could? And yet, there she was. She’d abandoned her car on a parking lot, and she had his jacket around her, drowning her in his cologne, they were racing toward his apartment, and there was a throbbing between her legs that she couldn’t have ignored if she’d tried.</p><p>She thought back to the way they’d kissed, and the way he’d kissed her like he knew her lips already, already knew how to make her melt, and then he’d been pressed up against her, and she’d kissed him everywhere she could reach, because his skin was so <em> soft </em>, and she’d felt him, hard and heavy against her leg, and his stubble was scratching her face, and everything had been exploding around her, leaving nothing standing but them, against her car… How could she have refused?</p><p>She looked over to him, and smiled, amused, when she saw how pointedly he was looking at the road ahead. She put her hand on his thigh, and a soft gasp fell from his lips. She moved her fingers slightly. Delicately. As subtly as she could—which was not very, given the way they wrapped around the bulging form in his pants. This time, it was a groan that escaped Marcus’ throat, and she wasn’t laughing anymore.</p><p>“Abby, don’t—” Marcus started, but Abby tightened her grip slightly, and he groaned again. She watched, entranced, as he struggled to keep his eyes open and looking straight. She knew she wasn’t being safe, but the sounds he was making were intoxicating. Her eyes never leaving his face, she unbuttoned his pants and pulled the zipper down. The car sent gravel flying as it drifted expertly to a stop on the side of the road, but Abby’s heart barely skipped a beat as she pushed her hand into his briefs and cupped his cock in her hand. Marcus finally turned to look at her and leaned towards her, but Abby put her free hand on his chest and held him away as she tutted.</p><p>“No, you don’t get to hide from me.” She sprang his dick free and gave it a lazy stroke, watching as he shuddered. “I want to watch you.”</p><p>She stroked him as slowly as she could, up, and down, up, and down, and his eyes fluttered shut, his head falling back as he let out a low whine. He was hard, and long, and pink, and Abby swallowed hard when she thought of all the things she wanted him to do to her. She took her time, running her thumb over his slit, twisting as she pumped, stroking his balls as she went. His groans turned to pants, and though she never picked up the pace, he did, thrusting up into her hand, breathing hard and messily.</p><p>“Abby, I won’t last much longer if you—” he started, but she interrupted him by leaning over to him and taking him in his mouth. Without thinking twice about it, she sank onto him as far as she could take him. “Fuck!” Marcus let out a litany of profanities as she swallowed around him, then started bobbing her head up and down, taking him in a bit further each time. It was uncomfortable, the handbrake was digging into her ribs, but the taste of him overpowered everything else, and she got lost into it. In a matter of seconds, she felt his whole body tense up and he came with a strangled whimper, spilling his warm release into her mouth. She swallowed one last time and sat straight again, smirking proudly at the sight before her.</p><p>Marcus was laying limp in his seat, his head thrown back, a thin coat of sweat on his forehead and a sigh on his lips. He looked beautifully exhausted.</p><p>“Shame,” she said, making him open his eyes. “I didn’t get to see you come.” She didn’t know where those words were coming from, but it sure seemed to have one hell of an effect on him, because he moaned, almost as if he were in pain.</p><hr/><p>Everything in her, from the way she was looking at him to her words, even the smell of her, was like the most powerful drug he’d ever been under the influence of. His palms were sweaty against his steering wheel, but he resisted the urge to wipe them on his trousers, because he had a feeling it wasn’t <em> his </em>legs that his hand would end up on.</p><p>As soon as he’d come back to his senses, Abby had urged him to resume driving, and if the way she was gripping her dress was anything to go by, she was just as impatient as him to arrive. Thankfully, Bellamy had taken advantage of their night out to have one of his own, so he wouldn’t be home, and Marcus didn’t expect him to come back before the wee hours of the morning. Plenty of time.</p><p>He could feel his cock start to stiffen again at the—admittedly very recent—memory of her fingers wrapped around him, and her mouth, God, her mouth. She’d felt amazing, and the way she’d taken control had stirred his insides in a deliciously painful way. He wouldn’t let her have her way once they arrived, though.</p><p> </p><p>He pulled over in front of his building a few minutes later, surprising both of them.</p><p>“Jesus, how fast were you driving?” Abby asked, and her voice was back to its normal self, which startled Marcus a little. Suddenly, he looked over at her, and it was Abby Griffin, British Lit professor at the Ark, the woman he’d longed for… He leaned over and kissed her,  kissed her like it was both their first and last time—once they parted, she let out a breathy moan that he knew would haunt his dreams for a long time.</p><p>“Does it matter?” he asked, fully aware that it did, that he’d been reckless, but Abby wasn’t known for being a safe driver either, so he knew she wouldn’t mind. Not with what was waiting for them. She shook her head, and he smiled, he couldn’t stop himself from grinning from ear to ear because she was beautiful, and he could kiss her if he wanted to, because she wanted it too. And they hadn’t even mentioned the Expo, he realized with a chuckle. “Shall we go up?”</p><p>“Thought you’d never ask,” she replied with a smile he would almost have qualified as shy.</p><hr/><p>As soon as the door was closed behind them, his lips were on her neck, biting and licking and kissing, and Abby couldn’t stop the curses and moans that he elicited from her. Her sex was throbbing against her lace panties, and she felt so light-headed she could have fainted right there, against the wall of Marcus Kane’s kitchen.</p><p>He had other plans, though, it seemed, because he pushed her dress up and hoisted her up—she yelped and hooked her legs around his waist. He didn’t give her time to catch her breath as he kissed her, again, and again. The front of her panties was soaked through, and it was rubbing repeatedly against the hem of his pants, making her almost frantic, seeking friction like a madwoman, kissing him feverishly. She was kissing Marcus Kane, and the thought was exhilarating. It was <em> his </em> stubble against her lips, <em> his </em> cock tenting his pants, <em> his </em> voice whispering her name like an old spell, over and over, <em> his </em>breath hot on her skin.</p><p>“Take me to your bedroom, <em> please </em>,” she pleaded, feeling like she would lose her mind if she didn’t feel him in her soon. He did as she asked, turning around and striding for his bedroom, not putting her down. When she realized that his arms weren’t even shaking from the effort, she felt another wave of heat crash over her body and she clung onto him tighter.</p><hr/><p>He felt bad when he heard the sound of fabric ripping, but the absolute need to get her underwear off her was far more pressing, and he tugged again, throwing the ball of silk in a corner of his room when it fully came off—it landed next to his jacket and waistcoat. The sight before him was delicious, and, looking at Abby sprawled out below him, he felt that he could have burst with love for the gorgeous woman.</p><p>He peppered kisses down her stomach, and saw goosebumps erupt all over her skin—as if the little throaty noises she was making weren’t indication enough of how much she was enjoying herself. For the first time that evening, Marcus felt relaxed. Aroused out of his mind and desperately in love, but calm. This, he knew how to do. This, he was good at.</p><p>However, not three seconds after his lips touched her clit—and God, she smelled good, she tasted good… Marcus arguing that <em> this </em>was what heaven was like—she bucked against his mouth, making him look up. She was looking down at him, her eyes glazed and her lips parted.</p><p>“Marcus,” she whined after he darted his tongue out, and her voice was already undone, making the tension in his pants more painful than it already was. “I need you.” He chuckled against her, giving another sweep of his tongue that made her shudder. “Please.” Her strangled plea was more than he could take, though.</p><p>“Alright,” he said, crawling back up and kissing her one last time before he stood up and discarded his pants, thankful for his composure—if his body had reflected how feverish he felt, he wouldn’t have been able to even undo his button. His briefs soon joined his trousers on the floor and he took off his shirt as well, for good measure.</p><hr/><p>When Marcus ordered her to sit up in the most authoritative voice she’d ever heard coming from him, she didn’t even consider resisting. Seeing him completely naked was entirely overwhelming, and far more erotic than her fogged up mind could take. He sat beside her on the bed and undid her dress with surprising ease. He’d been quicker to remove it than she’d been to put it on. <em> He does this often </em> , a voice at the back of her head warned her. <em> Shut up. </em></p><p>As soon as she was naked, his mouth latched onto one of her nipples, and her hand flew to her mouth to muffle the cry that came out of her. Her whole body was on fire.</p><p>“Please,” she repeated. She was aware of how desperate she sounded, but she couldn’t find the strength to care. She would die if he didn’t hurry up.</p><hr/><p>Her body was a dream. It was all curves, it was soft, and firm, and it tasted of roses—probably a cream she’d applied, but still. He wanted to kiss, taste, devour every inch of it. He kissed her mouth again, and positioned himself between her legs, enjoying the last seconds of being in power that he had. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that feeling her around him would be his demise.</p><p>He pushed in, his heart pounding as he felt her slick warmth welcome him. A groan left his lips as he bottomed out, and he found himself unable to move. Abby was panting against his neck, and he kissed her hair.</p><p>“You feel amazing,” he gasped out. When he started to move and he felt her tense underneath him, her walls clenching around him, he realized he wouldn’t be able to drag this out. And they hadn’t bothered with a condom. <em> Shit. </em></p><p>Her moans were growing louder, and everywhere their bodies touched was ablaze, and it only took a few minutes for him to feel like he was about to come. Thankfully, she was trembling and clenching furiously around him, so she had to be close too. He pulled out of her, immediately feeling the loss, and she groaned in annoyance.</p><p>“Jesus Christ, Marcus, what’s that for?” she asked, her tone firm though her vocal cords had obviously taken a hit, and he chuckled.</p><p>“Unless you want to give Clarke a sibling, I’d better finish… like this,” he replied, slipping two fingers inside of her, and she gasped softly, moaning under her breath.</p><p>He was outside of her reach, so he took himself in hand and jerked himself off, the sight of his fingers disappearing inside of her enough to make him come within seconds.</p><hr/><p>It was all too much, her gaze locked onto her, his fingers sieging her G-spot and feeling his come covering her belly… she felt her climax devour her whole as she cried out, shuddering violently.</p><p> </p><p>It took her a few seconds to come down from her high, and she felt him lying beside her more than she saw him. She curled up against his side, cringing when she felt the sticky dampness between her thighs. She felt too good to want to move, though.</p><p>“This was long overdue,” she heard Marcus mutter somewhere above her head and she hummed in agreement. It really was. If they’d got around to doing that four years ago, her life would have been much easier—and wildly different.</p><p>They stayed silent for a while, basking in each other’s presence. Abby could feel his pulse under her breast, and it was a comforting thought. That he was there. Alive.</p><p>“I don’t want this to be it,” she started, not aware she wanted to speak until the words were already out. “For us, I mean.”</p><p>She really didn’t. There was something in their conversations, in their kisses, in everything they did or said, that made her want to spend her life with him. And though that wasn’t a promise she was ready to make, she didn’t want them to ever part ways after tonight. The satisfaction was only temporary, she needed him to stay close. She would never get enough of him, that much was sure.</p><p>“Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that came from,” Marcus replied, his voice tired, breathier than usual, which made her hair flutter against her face.</p><p>She smiled.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>WGitW is officially back! I'm switching to a chapter a week for a while, though, just so I can stay on top of things. It'll probably switch back to every 4/5 days in June!<br/>I hope you enjoyed this chapter, though I'm aware I'm not the best at smut--that's why there won't be too much of it. Still, you'll get a few other scenes ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Marcus and Abby deal with morning-after shenanigans. Clarke opens up to Lexa.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The soft snore beside her startled Abby into awakening, and her heart jumped in her chest when she realized there was a body in bed next to her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It took her brain a few seconds to remember the events of the previous night, and, even though it made her feel warm all over, it was like she’d swallowed a lead weight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her head was clear now, instead of foggy and lust-ridden like it had been, and she understood just how badly she’d fucked up. She’d been the one to initiate contact, even though he’d been the one to suggest it, and she had mixed feeling about that. On the one hand, it meant she couldn’t question the fact that she’d wanted it, but on the other hand, it painted quite a poor picture of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She decided to wait for Marcus to wake up, because she’d done the whole “waking him up just to freak out” and neither of them had liked it. She left the bed as delicately as she could, only to realize that she was still completely naked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Great</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And she hadn’t brought a change of clothes. She picked up Marcus’ shirt, that he’d worn the night before, and slipped it on. She pondered rummaging through his drawers to find a pair of boxers she could borrow and eventually decided that it was for the best.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She walked over to his wardrobe, thankful for the thick carpet that silenced her footsteps, and opened a drawer at random—she smiled as an array of colorful underwear revealed itself. So he’d been careful to wear his only pair of black ones, she noted with a barely-suppressed snort. She grabbed a pair of pink ones, laughing already at the face he’d probably pull when he’d see her, put it on, then tiptoed out of the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The microwave in the kitchen informed her that it was only 7 in the morning, and she cursed her internal clock for being so disciplined. She probably could have done with a few hours more. Her heart still hadn’t quite recovered from the situation she’d woken up in, and she tried her best to breathe deeply. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Everything is fine.</span>
  </em>
  <span> True, she’d had sex with Marcus bloody Kane, but they’d had a great evening, too, an amazing meal, and even the sex part had been incredible. All in all, she regretted nothing, except… timing. But it had never been her forte, and she was sure he wouldn’t be mad at her. Neither of them had been drunk, or under any other influence except that of each other. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Everything is fine.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked around for something to nibble on. She decided against making herself a cup of coffee, because she didn’t know how loud his coffee machine was, and she was determined to let Marcus have his sleep. She ended up looking through the fridge, impressed by full it was. The crisper drawer was full of actual vegetables, and there were plenty of yogurts and desserts, as well as a clear glass box filled with what she recognized was artisanal cheese, wrapped in their creamy white paper. Raven bought those every week at a farmer’s market. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus, Marcus Kane’s a hippie</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought with a fond smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grabbed a yogurt and a slice of bread from the loaf on the kitchen island, as well as an apple, and opened the cutlery drawer for a little spoon. That would do. She grabbed a tray from the cupboard over the oven—Jesus, she knew her way around. She’d only been here twice and already she knew where everything was—and put her breakfast on it, before moving a chair to the huge window, where she sat, looking at the city below her, already buzzing with life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In truth, it was completely uncharacteristic of her to help herself to someone else’s food, but she was starved, and she had a feeling Marcus wasn’t the kind of man to mind. Not to mention, he still had plenty of everything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sat there in silence, munching her apple with a smile on her face. Now that the initial shock had passed, she felt good. Happy. She could still feel Marcus’ hands on her body, and his lips on her own, and she was dumbfounded at how perfect it had been. Maybe she didn’t regret the timing, after all. The way he’d touched her… he’d wanted this as much as her. And to think that they could go at it again whenever they wanted… She was glad she’d had the presence of mind to ask him about that, though he hadn’t quite understood her question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t want them to end there, but she didn’t want them to end at sex, either. She’d have to have a word with him about that, but she was fairly sure they were on the same wavelength. She looked down at her wedding ring, still on her right hand, and, though she’d expected to feel guilty, what her heart was swelling with was, and overwhelmingly so, love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t know where they would go, or what they would be, but it seemed that their path was clear.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>It was almost frightening to realize, but the warmth of Lexa’s arms was no surprise to Clarke as her eyes opened. She snuggled closer to her girlfriend, relishing in the haze sleep had left in her, but that state of grace didn’t last long—the burn in her eyes didn’t lie, and her throat hurt from having cried too much the night before. Maybe that was why Lexa’s arms were so tight around her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mom had gone to dinner with Marcus Kane the night before. However predictable that turn of events had been, she was still surprised that they'd accepted to see things as they were. How many times had she heard tales of their feud, her mother working veiled compliments about him into every one of her rants. She was glad they'd put their pride aside, and she'd allowed herself to spend the night at Lexa's, because she could have bet her own life that her mother would </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> come home for the night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tears had come easily enough. She felt so utterly alone, now that she'd lost Bellamy. She hadn't spoken to him since she'd stormed out on him, and had no intention to. Still, it was impressive how much she missed him. And no way was she opening up to her mother—especially not now that she'd buried herself in that lie about Lexa being some guy named Alex.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt better now, but she knew from experience that the pain hadn't gone. It was hiding, under a thin coat of temporary satisfaction. She had to do something about it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An hour later, after she'd been avoiding Lexa's concerned eyes for one too many minutes over their mugs of coffee, she forced herself to speak. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You want to know what last night was about."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Of course I do." Lexa's voice was soft, but Clarke knew that she was hurt to have been kept in the dark. "Clarke, one minute you were fine, and the next, you crumbled."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah…" She took a sip of her coffee. "I don't really know why it happened when it happened." She looked around at Lexa's studio, the futon in the corner, the wooden floors and walls, the plants in every free space there was… In so little time, this place had come to mean so much. And it was all because of her, she thought, her eyes finally meeting Lexa's. "I feel so alone, Lexa. Bellamy's gone, and I can't speak to my mom without feeling like shit because of what I've been keeping from her, and none of my friends would understand the way I'm feeling… I guess I just hadn't realized how alone I was. Of course, I have you," she added with a smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But no one should have to survive on only one person's love," Lexa completed. "I get it, don't worry."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sometimes, I wish that there was someone, in the middle of my life, who had no bias but who still… knew what I'm talking about." Lexa was smiling, and Clarke chuckled humorlessly. There was no point daydreaming. "I know, it's stupid." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't think it's stupid," Lexa said, slurping her coffee with a wince. "Jesus, that stuff is hot. No, I was thinking that, from what you've told me, there's someone exactly like what you've just described." Clarke's heart skipped a beat. Was there? "What was his name? Crane? Your art teacher!"</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>If the people of the city of Tulsa, Oklahoma, were to be asked what they remember from October 13th 201X, they would probably reply that the memory of the blood-curdling scream that came out of Marcus Kane's apartment still haunts their dreams. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>None of them, however, would know, or even imagine, what the person at the origin of that scream felt when he saw his British Lit professor, in his father's kitchen—and clothes.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The scream behind her was so sudden, and so violent, that Abby felt that she would die on the spot, killed by the highest frequencies her ears had ever had the displeasure to perceive. That would have been a mercy, she realized as she turned around and came face to face with one Bellamy Blake, only dressed in boxers, and hair tangled up from having obviously just woken up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As a strange but hilarious cherry on top of an awkward cake, Marcus burst into the room, looking distressed as ever. His wide eyes and defensive stance were amusing enough, but it seemed that Abby and Bellamy came to a simultaneous realization—he was stark naked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dad, oh God!” Bellamy exclaimed, turning around dramatically, hands on his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby herself couldn’t manage to say a word as she dissolved into a hysterical mess, completely unable to stop the fits of laughter that bubbled from her throat. Every time she managed to calm down, Marcus’ bewildered eyes and Bellamy’s shaking form—she hoped he was laughing and not crying—made her go again, and it took a full minute for her to get herself under control</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You might want to go cover yourself,” she snorted, shaking her head at Marcus.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” Bellamy added, still turned around, and it took every ounce of willpower Abby had not to burst out laughing again at the sight of Marcus’ bare ass swinging out of the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry about that, Bellamy,” she said, turning to the young man who’d turned back around but who didn’t look like he’d forget that morning anytime soon. “If I’d known my presence would lead to that, I’d have left earlier!” She was trying to lighten the mood but she could see how awkward the boy was feeling… she wasn’t prepared for this at all. It couldn’t have been more obvious what she and Marcus had been up to last night, and, at 20, if she’d found one of her teachers in her kitchen, on what was clearly a morning after, she’d have screamed just as loud as Bellamy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” the boy chuckled, making a less-than-subtle beeline for his bedroom. “I should have seen it coming, anyway,” he added, before disappearing into his room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words should have perplexed Abby, but from what she’d understood from Clarke’s snide remarks, she and Bellamy had been predicting their parents getting together for almost as long as they’d been friends. Speaking of getting together, she really had to ask Marcus if that was what they’d done. She didn’t know how she felt about it… did she want them to be together? Was she ready for something so definite?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her worries flew out of her mind not long after the screaming incident, when a now fully-clothed and more awake Marcus Kane sat down at his kitchen island. He’d grimaced at the boxers she was wearing, but had made no remark—not that he was in any position to; the lime green pair he’d chosen wasn’t much more tasteful. He motioned for her to sit down too, but she shook her head with a smile. She’d been sitting at the window for a while, and her legs were a bit sore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I fix you anything to eat?” she proposed to diffuse the weird tension that was starting to build up between them. Yeah, they really had to have a chat. “I found that I have a remarkable knowledge of your kitchen.” It was his turn to shake his head as he laughed under his breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I’m fine. I’m hungry for something else, anyway,” he added with a wink, and Abby could feel her eyes widen as she took a step toward him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, your son is just next door, are you crazy?” she hissed at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, Dr. Griffin, I’ll be moving out in no time if he keeps that up!” Bellamy shouted from his room, and Abby put her face in her hands, groaning in embarrassment.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Though the second-hand embarrassment was almost making him blush, Marcus couldn’t help the warm spark of hope that he felt, seeing Bell and Abby interact like that. Of course, he was her student, and they knew each other well, but it was so… weirdly intimate to see his son and his lover communicate in a personal setting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked Abby, who looked down at her clothes with a look of disarray.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t bring a change of clothes,” she explained sheepishly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at her for a long time, detailing the curves of her body. It should have bothered him to see her in his clothes—especially this horrendous pink abomination he only wore when he hadn’t done the laundry in too long—but she looked as beautiful as ever. Her long hair was cascading down her back and he wanted to run his hands through it. Her face bore no sign of sleep, and her eyes were looking back into his like he held all the answers she could ever need.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And to think he’d doubted she felt the same way about him that he did about her… there wasn’t much doubt now in his mind as he got to his feet and swept her off her feet, twirling her around before he put her back on the ground and kissed her square on the lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a shirt that’s far too big for me. I’d love to see it on you with those black heels of yours,” he said against her lips, before dashing to his bedroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby followed suit, leaning against the doorframe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re incredibly chipper all of a sudden!” she smiled, and he looked back at her with a smile so wide it hurt his cheeks. “Not complaining, mind you,” she added.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I had an amazing night with an amazing woman, and she skipped her habit of storming out my front door, so yeah, I’m feeling pretty good!”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>She’d lived in Tulsa her whole life, but Abby had never set foot in the Charmaine Diyoza park, she realized as she walked through the huge golden gates, hand in hand with Marcus. That had happened quite naturally as they’d exited his car, and she was feeling giddy as a young girl, feeling his arm swing in time with hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, who’s that lady with the impossible name?” she asked when they passed a board with Diyoza’s photo.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Charmaine Diyoza,” Marcus said, looking like the name itself brought him incommensurable joy. “She’s my historical crush, if you will. She was from Tulsa, and she served during World War II. She was one of the key elements in the Battle of the Bulge, and probably the reason why the Americans stayed put despite the casualties they suffered. She’s a war hero, basically. Do you want to know the best part?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can hardly see how there can be a better part than an awesome war hero, but sure,” Abby said excitedly. How she hadn’t known about Diyoza, she didn’t know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s still alive today, and still lives in Tulsa!” Marcus’ eyes were crinkled in joy, and Abby cupped his face in her hands, pulling him in for a short kiss. Thanks to her high heels, she was almost as tall as he was, and it made kissing a whole lot easier.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After a while, they settled on a bench in front of a fountain, and Abby leaned into Marcus’ side, letting the sun warm her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So—” Abby started, but hearing her speak seemed to spur Marcus into action as he suddenly turned towards her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Abby, however juvenile it might all seem, I really like you, and what we seem to have found lately, so… would you like to be my girlfriend?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes were wide and shy and his hands had gripped hers—he was right, he looked awfully young in that moment, and Abby had a strange vision of what they could have been if she’d met him instead of Jake, all those years ago. How different she would have been. She wasn’t sure she liked that idea. There would have been no Clarke, for one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she wasn’t a teenager, and neither was the man in front of her. Why then, when she’d hoped for their relationship to take on a more concrete form, was she feeling so weird?</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes were full of clouds, when they’d been so bright and happy only minutes before. He regretted asking, now. Maybe it was too much, too soon. Maybe being faced with a concrete proposition had brought her back to reality, and she didn’t want him anymore. Marcus tried his best to shut his thoughts up when Abby’s mouth opened. She looked thoughtful. Was that a good thing?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think…” She locked eyes with him, and they were warm again. Maybe fondness was the word he would have used if the words that followed had been different. “Maybe it’s a bit soon for that? I’m so sorry, Marcus, I don’t mean to be shooting you down, but, you know, it’s hard for me to jump into a relationship, when my last one ended… the way it did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew her well enough to tell that she was struggling to keep her composure, and he felt stupid, all of a sudden. Of course she wouldn’t want to rush things, after what happened to Jake. And what did it matter to him, whether she was his girlfriend or not? She wanted to build something with him, in her own words, and that was enough, far better than enough, actually. Shaking his head, he took her in his arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I get it,” he whispered. “Sorry, I shouldn’t even have asked.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” she whispered back, holding him tight. She was trembling slightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just that you looked so beautiful in the sun, and we had so much fun last night… You made me lose my mind a little.” He forced out a laugh, and pulled back, still holding her shoulders. He gave her the warmest smile he could muster, and kissed her cheek. “Now, we should probably discuss this infamous Expo, right?”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Abby appreciated the effort to take her mind off things, and smiled back at him. She spent ten minutes detailing the little things she’d already planned, then he gave her feedback, which she carefully wrote down on her phone. They ended up spending an hour on their park bench, discussing what they could do, what they wanted, or absolutely didn’t want. She was thrilled to find that he had all sorts of ideas, and he was every bit as invested as her in this project.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took them another two hours to get back to Marcus’ apartment, because he’d insisted on showing every secret corner he’d found in the park over the years. And when she walked through the door, a startling thought disturbed her peace of mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It feels like coming home.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bellamy makes a decision that has repercussions on everyone.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I want to go back to mom’s,” Bellamy said, one morning, eyeing his breakfast like it was going to jump at him.</p>
<p>The words were as much a surprise to Marcus as they really weren’t. Since his fallout with Clarke, he hadn’t been the same. He went out a lot, with guys he barely knew. He had reeked of alcohol when he’d come through the door. He listened to music so loud that Marcus already knew the words to his favorite songs. And, above all, he looked so incredibly sad.</p>
<p>His interaction with Abby a few days prior had been the most Marcus had seen him laugh in a while, and, despite all his efforts, he wasn’t getting better. So, that his son would want a change in setting wasn’t a surprise—that, however, didn’t mean that Marcus didn’t feel something inside him break at the thought of Bellamy leaving Tulsa to go back to Prue.</p>
<p>As if on cue, a cloud passed by, covering the sun that had been pouring in the room.</p>
<p>“I get it,” was all that he could say, because he did. He did, and what was he going to do? Beg his son to stay? “What about college?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” There was still that haunted look in his eyes that sent chills down Marcus’ spine. No, his son wasn’t alright. “I’ll only miss a week or two, I think, and I guess I was hoping you could pull some strings?”</p>
<p>The very idea of that would have revolted the man that Marcus had been a few years prior. The man Marcus had been in Prue. But he realized that he wasn’t against it at all—the overwhelming need to help Bell was so much more powerful than his principles. He really had changed. And he hadn’t seen it happen.</p>
<p>“I don’t know how much they’ll allow me, but I’ll do my best.” He finished his cup of coffee and put it in the sink, standing there for a while. When he was finally able to get the question out, he had to grasp the steel to stop his hands from shaking. “When are you planning on leaving?”</p>
<p>“This weekend, I suppose. I have to warn my professors, to plan who will take which class for me, and… well, I was really hoping to talk to Clarke before I go.”</p>
<p>Again, Marcus wasn’t surprised. Clarke was at the core of Bellamy’s sadness, though it wasn’t her fault in any way. From what he’d understood—and guessed—Bellamy had been majorly shaken by his own behavior, and had been second-guessing everything he’d done before and since. Marcus had been there, and he knew how dark one’s own thoughts could become.</p>
<p>“Alright, well I’ll go now, I’ll do my thing, and by the time you come in this afternoon, it all should be taken care of.”</p>
<p>He grabbed his satchel and was ready to go through the door when his son called after him.</p>
<p>“You’ll be fine, dad. You have Dr. Griffin now.”</p>
<p>And the smile that Bellamy offered him was heartbreaking.</p>
<p>“Yes, that’s true,” Marcus replied, smiling in spite of himself because it <em> was </em>true. “But no one can or will ever replace you. You’re my number one priority, Bell, always, especially since we moved here together. You and me, come whatever, right?” His voice was steady, and full, and he thanked God for his innate talent for speaking. He wasn’t always a typically “strong” father, but today he needed to be. “Besides, this is not about me. This is about you. You’re going to spend time with your mom, and your sister, and it’s going to do you a world of good. Alright?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, alright,” he replied, and his smile was just a little bit brighter.</p>
<p>When Marcus closed the door behind him, he was surprised by how upset he felt. It had been just Bellamy and him for years now, his son hadn’t ever left for more than two days, and the thought of his flat empty was not one he was looking forward to seeing become true.</p>
<p>As the elevator arrived on the first floor, he took out his phone and dialed Cage’s number. The younger man picked up almost immediately—he’d probably been killing time on some stupid app.</p>
<p>“Marcus, damn! Long time no talk, man!”</p>
<p>His friend’s exuberant tone almost robbed Marcus of his hearing, but he was still glad to have called. He crossed the street and entered his car with a smile.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Abby had been having a fairly nice morning—the birds were singing particularly happily, and there was just the right amount of honey in her tea—but when Clarke walked in, looking like she’d swallowed a lemon, her mood was brought down abruptly.</p>
<p>“What’s up, baby?” she asked, as gently as she could, because Clarke looked like she was almost shaking.</p>
<p>“Not much.” Her voice was steady, so Abby guessed things weren’t so bad. Clarke probably had a presentation of some kind, that she wasn’t ready for. “I just have this… thing today that’s making me really nervous.”</p>
<p>Abby felt she had to say something, because Clarke looked like hell, but her daughter’s phone rang at that exact moment, annoying her and relieving her in equal parts.</p>
<p>“Ugh, it’s Bellamy,” her daughter groaned. Things between the two of them hadn’t warmed up, though Bellamy still tried to call Clarke every other day, and Abby felt a pang of sadness at the thought of what had happened. She didn’t know why Clarke refused to talk to him, she only knew that he’d seemed so… absent in her classes, that she sometimes forgot he was even there.</p>
<p>“Maybe you should pick up? Hear what he has to say?”</p>
<p>Clarke looked back up at her, bewildered, but Abby only raised her eyebrows. This was the first time she was getting involved in their mess, and she was surprised, too, but she cared about Bellamy. That, and the fact that… something felt different about today.</p>
<p>“Huh. Okay, whatever.”</p>
<p>She walked back to her bedroom as her finger slid over the screen.</p>
<p>“What do you want?” was all that Abby heard before Clarke closed her door behind her.</p>
<p>She sighed and turned back to her tea, taking a sip that now seemed too cold, not sweet enough. She’d thought Bellamy and Clarke were soulmates, whether platonic or not, but two beings that fit together like that was what they’d been created for. But now, she wasn’t so sure. Whatever their big fight had been about, Clarke didn’t appear ready to forgive him.</p>
<p>She thought back to how Marcus had asked her to pass on Bellamy’s forgiveness, and she now regretted not having done it. Maybe Clarke would have picked up that phone a little more gently.</p>
<p>Of course, as it usually did, the mental mention she made of Marcus drowned her in a sea of thoughts. He’d asked her to be his girlfriend three days before, and she still didn’t know what to tell him. The thought was tempting, of course, enchanting even. She liked him more than she’d ever have thought possible—maybe she would have used the word ‘love’ if she hadn’t been a literature teacher; overly aware of the power of words—and they’d had a great evening, followed by great sex, and a sweet walk through the park.</p>
<p>When she thought back to how their first friendly encounters had gone, it seemed ridiculous how scared and tactless it had been. They had chemistry, and they’d tried to conceal it, which had failed marvelously. So now that they’d moved past that, it would have seemed natural for them to take the next step—making it official. But it was also so soon! They’d gone out <em> once </em>, for Christ’s sake!</p>
<p>She shook her head and picked up her phone, opening her contacts, and selecting Raven’s number.</p>
<p>“Abby!!” was the greeting that filled Abby’s ears, Raven’s enthusiastic voice immediately lifting up her mood. “Fuck, it’s so good to hear your voice!”</p>
<p>“You haven’t heard it yet,” Abby said with an uncontainable smile.</p>
<p>“Now I have! God, what’s going on with you? We haven’t talked in <em> ages </em>!”</p>
<p>That was true, though that wasn’t Abby’s fault. Raven was always trekking across some remote corner of the planet, and she was almost never reachable. It was a fortuity that Abby was very grateful for. She pointed it out to her.</p>
<p>“It’s barely my fault, honey, you never have any reception.”</p>
<p>“True. You haven’t answered my question, though. How are you?” Raven’s voice, as sweet and caring as only she could be, made Abby feel all warm inside. That girl was one of the great loves of her life, and she considered her family as much as Clarke.</p>
<p>“I’m better than ever. Things are going well for me, really.” She hadn’t decided whether she’d mention Marcus or not, but she could not act as if his influence hadn’t brightened her days. “What about you? Where are you right now?”</p>
<p>“Uh, somewhere north of Bali. I have no idea how I even have reception. It’s basically a miracle.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’ll be sure to check that Clarke doesn’t have a secret brother called Jesus!”</p>
<p>Raven’s laugh rang, loud and full, and Abby stifled a giggle of her own. Oh, it truly had been too long. Suddenly, the peace and joy that had filled the room was broken by Clarke bursting in the room.</p>
<p>“He’s fucking leaving!”</p>
<p>“Oh, hi Clarke!” Raven said, still sounding as elated as seconds before. Right. She didn’t have the context. “I’ll leave you to it, Abby!”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I think you’d better, yeah.” Abby replied, eyes fixed on her daughter who might as well have had smoke coming out of her ears. “Be safe, I love you.”</p>
<p>“Love you too!”</p>
<p>Abby slowly lowered her phone and hung up regretfully. It would be weeks, maybe months, before she could reach Raven again. But Clarke didn’t look like she could postpone her explosion.</p>
<p>“What do you mean, he’s leaving?”</p>
<p>“Bellamy! He’s going back to Prue for two weeks!”</p>
<p>“Oh.” That was as unexpected as they were understandable. Bellamy had been down ever since his fight with Clarke, and he needed to take a break. As a mother, Abby approved. As his professor… “How is he planning to keep up with college?”</p>
<p>“Oh, for God’s sake, mom! That doesn’t matter! I’ve been ignoring him for two weeks because I was so mad, but now none of it even matters, he’s been leaving all of these messages, and I haven’t listened to any of them, and he’s going away!” Tears spilled from her eyes as her face scrunched up in a pained grimace. “He’s my best friend, and I drove him away.”</p>
<p>Abby got up and swiped Clarke’s tears away with her fingers, as delicately as she used to do when she was small. She cupped her face in her hands and kissed her forehead.</p>
<p>“It’s going to be okay. This will be good for him. Prue is not that far away, and he’s not leaving forever, right?”</p>
<p>Clarke shook her head, sniffling. Abby felt her throat tighten and she hugged Clarke as hard as she could, swaying a little from the force of her embrace. Sometimes she missed the days when Clarke was that small, innocent child who knew nothing of the world’s cruelty. Sometimes she missed being that innocent.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Marcus had somehow managed to arrange a meeting to discuss Bellamy’s departure in a matter of hours, and the room he and his colleagues had met in was now slowly emptying. He didn’t like the looks on their faces: they all seemed to think he was being abandoned. Thankfully, they’d at least agreed to make this thing work, and he texted a short message to Bellamy—they’d talk about it more that night, over dinner.</p>
<p>He looked up from his phone to see that Abby was the only one who hadn’t gone yet. She’d been sitting somewhere on his left and, though he’d been aware of her presence, and glad for her kind comments, he hadn’t been able to get a good look at her.</p>
<p>She looked beautiful as always, and when she walked over to him, he stood up, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek.</p>
<p>“Thank you for coming.”</p>
<p>“Of course. You know I care about Bellamy’s education a lot.” He smiled, and she added, as though she was somewhat embarrassed to admit it. “I care about him, period, in fact. He’s a great kid, Marcus. He really is. I’m so sorry that this is happening.” She looked so touched by Bellamy’s predicament, Marcus almost thought she was going to cry. And yet, when she looked back up at him, her eyes had that fierce seriousness that she had when her mind was set on something. “We’re fully supporting his decision, aren’t we? I really think it could help him.”</p>
<p>Marcus chuckled and grabbed her hands between both of his.</p>
<p>“Not that you actually have a say in it, but yes, I also think it’s a good idea.”</p>
<p>“Good.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Somewhere across campus, Bellamy was walking towards the parking lot, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes set on the horizon. He felt relieved to have shared his decision with his dad—who had apparently already arranged everything university-wise, as per a text that he’d received not long ago—but the weight of his ever-present sadness was still there, clouding his thoughts.</p>
<p>So when he saw Clarke running toward him across the perfectly mowed lawn, he thought he was dreaming. The look on her face was desperate and eager, and she was running as fast as he’d ever seen her. Then suddenly, their bodies collided and she closed her arms around him, leaving him no choice but to bury his face in her hair. Because he didn’t understand why she’d hug him, but maybe it was the last time he’d get to do it. He breathed in the scent of her—though his heart hurt because she smelled of that perfume that she’d only been wearing for a little while. Since she’d met Lexa, he’d understood.</p>
<p>They’d talked, that morning, but not much. He’d told her how sorry he was for being harsh to her, and she’d told him to get to the point, so he had. She’d asked him to repeat. Once. Twice. She’d asked for some details in the blankest voice he’d ever heard coming from her”. Then she’d hung up.</p>
<p>So seeing her run up to him like that was not in the realm of thing Bellamy thought would happen to him that day. He held her as tight as he could until he felt her try to pull away.</p>
<p>“I got your messages! I listened to all of them and I just want to say, I forgive you.” Bellamy’s heart raced at the words. “I was so hurt, but I told you to call me when you changed your mind, and you did, you kept trying, and I forgive you, and now I’m sorry too…” She locked eyes with him and smiled. “I hope going away for a while will make you feel better.” He didn’t get a chance to reply to her, as she was already turning away. “I really have to go, I spent so long looking for you that I made myself late. But we’re going out tomorrow night!”</p>
<p>And, just like that, she ran away, leaving Bellamy alone with his pounding heart and dazed thoughts.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“I thought you weren’t coming! You’re lucky your mother kept me here so late,” Marcus said with a smile when Clarke burst through his door, out of breath though she was obviously trying to conceal it, only making it worse.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to know anything about that, thank you,” Clarke said, now trying to repress a cough.</p>
<p>“Take a breath, and then a seat.” Marcus was trying really hard to stop himself from laughing. If Clarke had asked him for a private chat, something was obviously up. But she was almost wheezing now, and he barely suppressed a snort.</p>
<p>When she finally caught her breath, she sat at the chair nearest to her and he walked over to her to sit on the next one, putting his teacher face back on as best he could.</p>
<p>“So, what did you want to talk about?” he asked, not missing the way Clarke tensed up at the question.</p>
<p>“Well, you probably know that Bellamy and I had a fight, and, if I know him as well as I think I do, you still don’t know what that fight was about. Now, you’re my professor, but you’re also my best friend’s father, and you’re both the most neutral and the most implicated person in this whole thing, so… I was hoping you’d want to hear the whole story.”</p>
<p>Marcus nodded. Clarke was wrong to think that he was still in the dark, but he agreed with her reasoning, and he was glad that she felt she could confide in him. He cared for her, not only because she was one of the most brilliant young artists he’d ever had the good fortune to teach, but also because she was Abby’s daughter, and anyone who was important to Abby was important to him.</p>
<p>“If you’d like to tell me, I’d like to hear,” he said, not wanting to push her to anything—though he had to admit that he was touched. Coming out of the closet was never an easy affair, and she had chosen to tell him. He settled in his chair and smiled at her.</p>
<p>“I’m dating a woman,” Clarke blurted out, glancing briefly at her shoes before she looked back up at him, planting her eyes in his. “I told everyone it was some guy named Alex but Alex doesn’t exist. She’s a girl, and her name is Lexa.”</p>
<p>“I appreciate the anagram,” Marcus chuckled. “I’m glad you told me, Clarke.”</p>
<p>“You don’t sound like you care,” she muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.</p>
<p>“I really do, believe me. How could I not? But, if I’m being honest with you, Bell had already told me,” he admitted. “Don’t be mad at him for that, please, he and I share everything, and I never told a soul.”</p>
<p>Clarke looked surprised but, to his relief, not bothered.</p>
<p>“I just told you, so obviously I don’t mind you knowing. But I was wondering…” She hesitated. “I was wondering if you would mind telling my mom.”</p>
<p>That was a surprise to Marcus. He wouldn’t have thought her to be so aware of his relationship with her mother, though he didn’t exactly know why.</p>
<p>“I’m not so sure I like that idea,” he said softly, so that Clarke wouldn’t feel rejected. “This is a big deal, and you should be the one to get to say it. Still, I get it. If I had been able to ask someone to tell my parents for me, I probably would’ve done it.”</p>
<p>Clarke’s wide eyes made him smile, and he shrugged. <em> Guess we both have something we need to say to Abby.<br/></em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some time passes, and Abby has to decide what to do next. And what better time to do that than Thanksgiving?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The smell gave Marcus away, and Abby knew he had entered the room without needing to turn back. She smiled to herself and put Jake’s photo in her bag. She’d been packing up for the day, and had decided to remove it—she was moving on, whether she liked it or not, and besides, she didn’t need to have him on her desk to remember him. Of course, fate would make it so that Marcus would be there to witness it. She took a last breath to compose herself and turned around, finding him at arm’s length from her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was breathtaking, as he always was. Everything in her was as if reaching out for him, seeking his presence and wanting nothing but him. Why then couldn’t she make herself answer the question he’d asked her a few weeks prior? Why couldn’t she just say what she so desperately wanted to say, that yes, she wanted to be his, entirely, in title and in body?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, they’d been seeing each other—they were colleagues, partners working on a project that was starting to come together nicely, and there was no question as to the nature of their personal relationship, but when it came to telling people, or to labelling it, Abby just shut down, sometimes avoiding Marcus as much as possible for a few days, until he came to her, apologizing for rushing her, and the cycle started again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was getting hard to keep up with, even for Abby herself, who felt completely trapped in a vicious circle of her own making. Still, she didn’t feel ready to call herself anyone’s girlfriend, and so she repeated the same words over and over again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not ready, Marcus.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jacapo had chastised her a few times before he’d realized that it was no use, and he’d been nothing but supportive, but she knew he thought she should stop fretting and ‘take this chance’—in his own words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even Clarke, who had plenty of things to worry about, with her boyfriend, and constant video calls with Bellamy, had started to catch on that something was up, and would </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>leave her alone about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And yet, even when it brought her so much trouble, her quiet, secret companionship with Marcus made her happier than she could even remember being in a long time. Jacapo and Clarke couldn’t understand that, of course, that something so fragile and unsteady could fuel her internal fire better than anything else could, but Marcus did. She knew he did, because he’d told her once that ‘it doesn’t matter what we call ourselves, Abby. You make me happy, and there’s no need for anyone else to know that. You’re enough’. Abby had kissed him then, the only kiss they’d shared since their first night together. If she’d tried to explain to anyone why she felt so reluctant to kiss him again, they probably wouldn’t understand, but her fear of getting more involved than she was ready for was stronger than any physical urges she might have given in at any other time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re lost in thought,” Marcus said, pulling Abby away from her memories and back into her classroom. He was still standing in front of her, and he was frowning slightly, his eyes searching hers avidly, as if he was trying to read her mind. Knowing him, he probably was, as if his desire to know could break nature’s laws.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was. Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You removed Jake’s picture?” he asked, though both of them knew the answer to that question. Just like when he’d noted she’d moved her ring, back in the restaurant where they’d had dinner together, he didn’t seek confirmation, but an explanation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… Well, it just felt wrong, you know, with…” she gestured between the two of them, and Marcus softly grabbed her hand between his, taking a step forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Abby... Jake's a part of who you are,” he said, and, strangely enough, that was what made her sure of her decision.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know. He will always be. But… the place he held in my life… is held by someone else now. It wouldn’t be respectful to either of you.” Her voice was resolute, and she smiled up at him. She kissed his cheek—she had to get on her tippy toes to do it since she was wearing flats, and the tickle of his stubble against her nose made her laugh softly. “How was your day?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you know, our students are insanely talented, and we’re blessed to be their professors… but they’re also terrible little shits who don’t know when to stop chatting, so.” He was smiling too, now, and the corners of his eyes were all crinkled. She wanted to kiss him, so desperately, but she forced herself to pull back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, I guess you’re right. I miss Bellamy in my classes, though. Only now do I realize how much he was raising the bar for the others.” It was true; since he’d gone, his classmates weren’t half as interested as they used to be. Funny how teenagers worked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I miss him too. But he’s so much better, I’ve been speaking to him a lot, and he’s really thriving, back in Prue. Not to mention he’s ecstatic to spend so much time with Octavia, he really adores her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad.” She’d grown fond of that kid, over the months, and she was happy to hear he was feeling better, even if neither her or his father were there to see it. She was getting increasingly worried about how he’d pass his exams, but she trusted him, and Marcus, enough to leave it alone. “I’m guessing you came here for something other than a chat, though?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, can’t I come by just to say hello?” he replied, his tone full of that fake innocent surprise that he seemed to have passed down to his son.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, you’re allowed to,” she chuckled. “But would you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you’re right,” he admitted. “This is actually about Clarke. She’s alright,” he added precipitately when he saw the look of panic that, she was sure, immediately invaded her face. “She’s alright, but she and I had a conversation a while ago, and we made a deal that if she didn’t find the courage to tell you, I would. So… here I am.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The knowledge that Marcus and Clarke had that type of conversation—and of relationship—was entirely new to Abby, and odd. But, while a part of her was wondering why her daughter had come to Marcus Kane and not to her, she was mostly glad to learn that Marcus was a man that her daughter trusted, and could rely on. It filled her heart with so much love that she almost forgot that Marcus hadn’t actually told her what it was all about yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what is it you two talked about?” she asked, trying her best not to sound eager—though she was, more than anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well… I’m sure you’re aware that Clarke has had a boyfriend for a while now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Alex.” Now she was really wondering where this was all going. Was Clarke pregnant? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh God, I hope not.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She dared hope that her daughter would come to her directly were that the case.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here’s the thing.” Marcus marked a pause, and Abby genuinely wasn’t sure whether he was gathering his thoughts or building up the tension. “Alex… isn’t Alex at all.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Where was this going?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, spit it out,” she blurted out, leaning forward in spite of herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Her name is Lexa. And she’s a she.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though Abby’s thoughts suddenly turned into a whirlwind of incoherent thoughts, two things rang like a mantra through her brain. Why did Marcus look so worried? And why had Clarke lied?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a very strange thing to lie about,” she said without thinking twice about it. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>strange. Why would her daughter lie to her about who she was dating?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Marcus said, looking uncomfortable. “She was afraid you wouldn’t be supportive.” She shook her head at him. What was he talking about? “Of her… orientation,” he added. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. Oh!</span>
  </em>
  <span> She wanted to laugh, she felt so stupid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my God! Why in God’s name would she think that?” She knew, of course she knew, that some people were less than accepting in this world, but she’d never been one of them, and she was pained that her daughter would think she was. Especially since she’d always made a point of teaching her daughter acceptance and tolerance toward everyone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, you’re fine with it?” There it was again, that look in Marcus’ eyes, somewhere between fear and defiance. It warmed her heart to see him so protective of Clarke, and she smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I’m fine with it. It hurts to know that she lied, and that she was scared to talk to me, but I’m glad she could talk to you.” She took his hands in hers, placing them above her heart. “Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you wouldn’t care if I told you that I like men as well?” he said, looking down at their hands on her chest. His voice trembled slightly, and she tightened her grip on his hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, do you?” she asked gently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” he whispered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room suddenly seemed impossibly silent. She held her breath, afraid to disturb it. She hadn’t been expecting that turn of events. And, if she was honest with herself, it felt weird, to know that she’d been intimate with someone who had potentially had sex with men before. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Am I fine with it?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She found that the answer was crystal clear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s who you are, right?” He nodded slightly, looking back up at her, raising his eyebrows. “Besides, you like me right now, and that’s what matters.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The look in his eyes gave her no choice as to what to do next—it was so full of joy, so pure and beautiful. She kissed him, sighing at the taste of him. She pulled back before she let herself go too far, and cupped his cheek in her hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for telling me, Marcus.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, thank </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Abby.” Marcus’ phone suddenly went off, and they jumped apart, startled. “It’s Bellamy. I don’t have to take it…” he said, but the grimace on his face told Abby all she needed to know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you want to. Go. I’ll see you around.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He picked up, mouthing a silent Thank you! before he left the room, and Abby followed not long after, locking the door with a smile that she was unable to contain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If she thought about it, she could see that she had missed some very obvious hints that pointed to Clarke’s lie, the biggest ones being her constant refusal that Abby meet Alex, or even to show her a picture of him. She wouldn’t have guessed the ultimate plot twist, though, even if she’d thought about it long and hard—which she hadn’t.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The days had passed too quickly, and when Thanksgiving rolled around, Abby still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that it was November. Thankfully, ever since Jake’s passing, the Griffins’ Thanksgiving dinner had consisted of Chinese takeaway, which didn’t require much preparation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And when she saw her daughter setting them the dinner table, all dressed up, looking pretty—and grown-up—as ever, she felt it was the right time to talk to her about the whole Lexa thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So… since Thanksgiving is about, well, giving thanks, I’d like to start,” she said, and Clarke looked at her with a smile. “I’m thankful that you found an ally and a friend in Marcus. And that you were able to trust him as much as you did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a flash of panic in Clarke’s eyes before she was forced to realize that Abby wasn’t hostile. Her smile came back, almost bashful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He told you, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was your deal, or so I’ve understood,” Abby replied, before walking over to Clarke and engulfing her in a hug. “I love you so much, baby. The only thing that matters to me is that you’re happy, and I think this Lexa girl makes you happy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She does. She really, really does.” Clarke said, tightening the hug for a second before letting go. “What about you? Something’s up with you and Dr. Kane, I know it, and it’s been for a while, so… spill.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby hesitated. Was this the type of thing one shared with their children? She wanted to, she wanted to let her daughter in on her big secret, but she was afraid to end up oversharing. Besides, Clarke wouldn’t really understand. But since this was a time for confessions…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s complicated. We… like each other,” she almost stumbled on her words, and her blood froze in her veins when she realized what she’d been about to say. She didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. It was too soon for that. “We see each other a lot, and we… kiss sometimes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, this was hard. She made a face and looked back up at Clarke, who sported a giant grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow, mom. So you two are going out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s the thing. We’re not. He’s asked me… he’s asked me to be his girlfriend. Several times, actually.” She sat down at the counter and fixed her eyes to her knife, which she suddenly found fascinating. “I refused. I’m not ready.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke slowly walked around the counter to sit opposite her mother and cleared her throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ready for what, exactly?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There it was. Clarke was arguing, as Abby knew she would. She didn’t know if she’d be able to stand this discussion without either getting angry or starting to cry. That’s what had happened with both Marcus and Jacapo each time the topic had been brought up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A relationship. Commitment. I don’t know, you name it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, there’s a difference between being scared and not being ready. I know it must feel terrifying to take that step, but have you tried looking beyond that? Looking at what your life could be if you took that one simple, albeit terrifying, step?” Clarke said, in the soft voice Abby knew she used with the children she used to babysit. It was slightly vexing, but it was also sweet of her to be considerate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As for what she was saying, well… There was truth to it. A little more truth than she had been expecting. Why did her daughter always have the right words? Even Abby had to admit that, when she’d allowed herself to imagine what life with Marcus could be like, the predominant emotion hadn’t been fear, or regret.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Life was more complicated than the fantasies Abby could paint for herself, though. Wasn’t it? And then she thought back to the rest of her life. How she’d had her baby, even when everyone had told her she was too young. How she’d gone through with her degree, because she wanted it more than anything. How she’d managed to build back her life after Jake’s death. And that’s when she understood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>life. She could make what she wanted of it, and there was no reason why she’d have to hold back. True, some bad things happened sometimes, and some decisions were the wrong ones, but weren’t they all worth it? Hadn’t the rest of her life been worth where she was now? Her wonderful daughter? That job that she loved, that she was going to save </span>
  <em>
    <span>with Marcus’ help</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart was racing as all the walls she’s worked so hard to build up around herself came tumbling down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Clarke. Sometimes you’re so like your father that I wonder if you have any of my DNA at all.” She chuckled, but she could feel her throat tighten with every passing moment. “I should call him, shouldn’t I?”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Marcus wasn’t the type of man to throw himself a pity party, but he was having a terrible evening. He’d called his mother, earlier. And Bellamy, of course. Neither phone call had laster very long, because both of them had had Thanksgiving plans. Indra, like every year, was busy volunteering at the Tulsa Day Center. Cage… wasn’t the type of man Marcus wanted to spend Thanksgiving with, and besides, they’d seen each other not too long ago. And that was the extent of his relationships, which left him alone in his apartment with a beer that wasn’t cold enough and leftovers that had lost all flavor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He still didn’t know when, or worse, if, Bellamy would come back. He seemed to have completely recovered during his month in Prue, but he had made no move towards getting back to Tulsa. His academic work was still as good as ever, though, so no one dared complain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had thought of calling Abby, but he’d decided that he would wait for her to call him—in truth, he wanted to see if she would. Now that the last of his secrets had been revealed, she knew all of him, and he wanted to see what she would do with it. Did she still want him in her life? Had she ever wanted him at all? It was tough, getting turned down over and over again, but he wouldn’t give up until she said no. And some part of him knew she wouldn’t. She wanted this as much as he did. She was scared, that’s all, and that, Marcus could understand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was frightened, most of the time, by his feelings for her and how far they went. How far he’d go for her. But he’d learned a long time ago that fear was not the way to go. He’d been afraid to leave Aurora, and that hadn’t done him any good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took a sip of his beer and sighed. He really was spending the night alone, wasn’t he?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just as he was grabbing the remote, giving in to the appeal of watching whatever was on—anything to put an end to the silence—, his phone went off. Abby was calling him. Joy and apprehension exploded in his stomach in equal parts. He had a feeling this phone call would change a lot of things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He accepted the call, and, for a few seconds, he thought she’d butt-dialed him. Nothing on the other side but silence. Finally:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, Abby. Happy Thanksgiving—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need you to be quiet for a while, because if I don’t say what I have to say now, I’m afraid I never will. I’ve been a fool. A fool with good reasons, and commitment issues, but a fool nonetheless. I’ve pushed you away, again and again, because I was afraid of how much I wanted to hold you close. It only took you a few weeks to become one of the most important people in my life, and it scares the hell out of me, because caring for someone is taking the risk to lose them, and I’ve already lost too much. That being said, you make me feel so good, Marcus. You make me feel… loved, as presumptuous as that is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marcus could hear Abby’s voice becoming more and more strained, and it broke his heart. He knew how hard this must be for her, and he felt so incredibly special, to get to hear those words.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Words had always been obvious to Abby. The different meanings they held. The power they had. How to string them together to make a bigger impact. It was her job, both as a professor and as a literature specialist. She’d always thought that, if you wanted to say something properly, you had to think about it, and choose your words with care.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing in her life had prepared her for the way she was feeling right now. It was like some unknown force was pulling the words out of her, choosing them for her, and it only left more room for her emotions to completely invade every corner of her mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was holding back her tears as best she could, but every word she said brought her closer to the brink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I want to be with you. No one knows what the future holds, but I do know that I owe you, and myself, to just—” A sob escaped her lips and she stopped talking, trying to gather herself. She could hear him breathing hard on the other side of the phone. Was he about to cry too? “I have to try, Marcus. You used to be the one that made me forget that there was good in this world,” she said, chuckling in spite of herself. “But now… now you’re what’s good in my world.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it was like a dam broke inside of her. Tears spilled from her eyes, burning everything in their path, and leaving her breathless. But never—</span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span>—had she cried more genuine tears of joy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so, so thankful for you, Abby,” Marcus said, and yeah, it did sound like he was crying too. “And I want you to know that, from this day on, you’ll never be alone. I’ll always be there for you. As a shoulder to cry on, an idiot to laugh with, a partner in crime—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A boyfriend?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>No ‘business dinner’ excuses now, Marcus and Abby are having a proper date!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The table was set, the meal was warm, Abby’s clothes were clean and crisp, and Clarke was at Lexa’s for the night, which meant the only missing puzzle piece was the newly-taken, handsome, obnoxious guy known as Marcus Kane. He was due to arrive any minute now, but Abby found that she wasn’t anxious in the slightest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d gone out before, of course, but even if they hadn’t, after their teary Thanksgiving chat, she didn’t feel afraid to show herself to him. They both wanted this. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling at that thought, and shook her head at her own silliness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>silly, when she really thought about it. It was silly to feel so giddy and excited at the prospect of a date with a man she already knew and liked, especially in the comfort of her own home. Silly to have been so scared only days prior, only to feel so at ease now. Silly even that the thought of having the house to herself made her heart race in a too familiar way. But who was to say that silly couldn’t be good? That silly couldn’t be the sign of a beautiful story to come? It had been too long since she’d allowed herself to do something because it made her feel good, and Marcus had changed that. He’d changed everything.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>There is a fine line between reasonable excitement and complete ecstasy, and Marcus was walking it like it was a tightrope. Every step he took towards Abby’s house had his heart beating a bit faster and his hands were becoming too clammy to be acceptable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though he’d never admit it to Abby herself, the game of cat and mouse that they’d played for a  whole month had exhausted him—he would have felt bad for pushing her if he hadn’t known her the way he did. He knew she sometimes lacked the confidence to do things that she was perfectly capable of doing, and that a push over the edge was often what she needed. Besides, he knew that she wanted this as much as he did, and their phone call on Thanksgiving had reassured him of that. Apparently, she felt that she’d been leading him on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What he’d told her next, he’d meant. They’d apologized enough. They were always sorry for their mishaps, but the truth was that they were both only human, with flaws and fears, and there was no need to apologize for being unsure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The grey house with the red shutters that Abby had told him to look for came into view, and Marcus slowed down, so much so that he was almost standing still. He’d parked his car further down the road so he’d have some time to calm his nerves, but it had had the opposite effect. He was positively buzzing. He exhaled slowly and wiped his palms on his pants.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Doorbells had never brought Abby much joy, but when it rang through the house, announcing Marcus’ arrival, she decided it was her new favorite sound. If she’d had just a little less dignity, she would have ran to the door, but she forced herself to take calm, measured steps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she </span>
  <em>
    <span>opened </span>
  </em>
  <span>the door, though, and saw him standing there in a very dapper puffy white shirt that made him look like a prince out of a fairytale, she couldn’t stop herself from throwing her arms around him, grinning from ear to ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, it’s good to see you,” he groaned, holding her tight, and Abby was scared for a moment that she might start crying again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s good to see you too,” she said, inhaling his familiar perfume with a dying woman’s fervor, before he pulled away. “Look at us,” she laughed after a few seconds of silent, eager looks exchanged between the two of them. “We just saw each other this morning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but it’s not the same. When we see each other at the Ark, I can’t do this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without missing a beat, he leaned down and kissed her—nothing more than a chaste peck on the lips, but Abby immediately pulled him back down, to kiss him properly. For too long had she allowed herself to resist the voice inside of her that wanted to devour him whole. His lips parted in a voiceless sigh and she slipped her tongue in his mouth with a passion that, days ago, would have felt like giving up, but that now felt like everything was right in the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stayed on her doorstep, kissing and touching and breathing each other in, for a few minutes, but Abby thought they could have spent the night like that, if it wasn’t for the cold, wet drops that she felt running down her face. For a second, she thought Marcus might have started crying, but, when she saw him look up, she understood that the storm that news anchors had been predicting for days was finally upon them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, there it is,” Marcus commented with a smirk. “Might we go inside now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean, I thought you liked getting wet while kissing me!” Abby laughed as she stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The smell was heavenly, and it only added to the wonder Marcus felt when he stepped inside the main room—much like his apartment, the kitchen and living room formed one big, open space. The difference was that the large windows didn’t tower over the city, but rather gave him a glimpse of a dark green forest, surely the one that Abby ran in. It was beautiful, and he forgot for a second that they were in the middle of a suburb. The house, with all its light woods and comfy armchairs, juxtaposed with the greenery, had a treehouse atmosphere to it that made Marcus feel at home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s gorgeous, Abby. Wow, I get it now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you get?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why you don’t mind being a bit far from the Ark. This house is a dream!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It all looked like an Ikea catalog, but alive and warm. He wasn’t as fond of it as he was of his own cultural patchwork, but it was a close second.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I needed a change after Jake died, and since we were entitled to some hefty compensation, but neither of us felt like using the money, we took a day trip to Dallas. The nearest Ikea store, and it’s four hours away! But it was worth it, it was one of the first days I saw Clarke smile again.” Marcus turned away from the windows to face her, and he smiled. She was completely lost in her memories. “It was exhausting, and we could barely fit everything in the pickup truck I’d rented for the day, but it was so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at her with an adoration he could barely suppress. The way she looked around the room with a sparkle in her eyes, as she reminisced that special day, was priceless to him. He closed the distance between them and lifted her to one of the stools behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands on her waist could feel how thin the material of her shirt was, and her gaze was suddenly back to the room they were in, and the man in front of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He loved when she looked at him the way she did. No one had ever made him feel so… not only seen, but held. Even when she wasn’t touching him, it felt like her arms were around him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kissed her, and she moaned softly against his mouth. Her whole body seemed to melt and rebuild itself in his hands, and they went from a kiss to a battle of wills, fought with lips and teeth and tongue, in a matter of seconds. It was sloppy, and messy, but they didn’t care. They didn’t care, because Marcus’ hand was under Abby’s shirt, and she was pulling at the hair on the back of his neck… then suddenly, it was over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She put her hands flat on his chest and pushed him away softly, and it felt like the room had dropped twenty degrees. He looked at her, hurt, but mostly confused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Abby sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re… as tempting as ever, and I want nothing more than to tear your clothes off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, that was that. At least he knew everything was alright on that front, though the imagery that it brought to mind—namely, Abby tearing his precious pirate shirt off of him—did nothing to cool down the heat that he felt down to the tip of his toes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I want to take it slow…?” she said, smiling like a bashful kid. “It’s a bit late for that, I know, but we’ve known each other for so long, and still, we don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>much about each other.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had a point, Marcus thought. Still, they had the whole night to talk. Right now, he was pretty sure he couldn’t have remembered his own name if he’d tried. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Come on, man. For Abby.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair with a deep sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Abby. The things I’d do for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled apologetically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not saying you won’t get lucky later, because I’m no superhuman,” she said with a wink, “but I just know that if we get into bed, we’re not getting out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And with that, she turned back and walked over to the stove, stirring whatever was cooking without even glancing back.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>She hadn’t heard him move, but in a blink he was behind her, and his chest was pressed against against her back, his arms around her. He kissed her ear, and his breath was hot, the scratch of his stubble on her skin sending shivers down her spine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or I could just have you on the counter, right here, right now,” he groaned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby couldn’t stop the whine that escaped her lips, and she felt Marcus smile against her ear. She wanted to. God, she wanted to. But she had to hold her ground. She knew he was only testing her, and she’d been serious about wanting to take it slow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, I hate you,” she whispered. The now-distant memory of his hands on her skin, of what it had felt like to be with him… It was too much for her, and she was seconds away from giving in. But she wouldn’t. “Put your coat on the couch then help me set the table.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cleared her throat and felt him step away.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>All in all, Marcus thought that the both of them had exceeded all expectations. After his heated arrival, they’d managed to have a beer, and even eat Abby’s delicious homemade appetizers without things getting out of hand again.They’d chatted about work a lot, because the Expo that had brought them together in the first place was almost completely planned. They had all the actual work to do, but having clear guidelines would save them a lot of time and energy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They mentioned Bellamy too, and Marcus told Abby what his son had told him that very morning—that he’d been offered an apprenticeship at the bakery, that he was seriously considering accepting. Abby seemed worried to learn that (Marcus supposed he would have been, too, as a teacher), but she voiced her joy at the fact that he seemed so much better. He found it sweet, how much she cared about Bell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was easy, with Abby. They could be honest when it was time to be serious, but they could also mention the silliest anecdotes and dissolve into laughter. It was beautiful, in a way. That two souls that had been hurt so much could be so at ease with each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But now that they were seated and Abby was filling their plates with some kind of stew, Marcus felt overwhelmed in a whole other way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though he should have gotten used to it by now, being in Abby’s home, having dinner with her… it was oh too easy to let himself slip into a daydream where this was his everyday life, where every evening of his life was spent with this woman. It was a tempting daydream, too. One that reminded him of something…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “I never told you,” he said as the realization hit him. “I dreamt about you. Well, not just the once, since obviously we’ve known each other for years, but there was that one that really stood out.” Abby’s eyes had widened slightly, and she cocked an eyebrow, as if to say: so? “It was that very first night, just before you woke me up to shout abuse at me.” He shot her a wink, to make it clear he was being light-hearted, and she let out a breathy huff of laughter. “It was… it’s sort of embarrassing, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now if you don’t say it I’ll be mad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it was nothing… big, let’s say. But it felt like home, somehow.” He let the memory wash over him, and the way he’d felt, so happy he could have cried. “It was snowing outside, and I was making coffee… It was around Christmas. And there you were.” He could see her, clear as day, at the top of the stairs, in their house. “In that purple dressing down of yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He brought his attention back to the present, and looked into Abby’s eyes. It hit him like a truck, that obvious realization that… she really was there. Abby Griffin was there, and she was his, and he was hers. She looked at him with so much fondness, that what he said next, he couldn’t have held back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You haunted me after that. Every time I saw you, I just…” His breath caught in his throat and he laid his hand above Abby’s on the table. “I think it was then that I started to fall in love with you.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>It was as if the world had come to a stop. As if every bird and plane in the sky had been frozen in time, as if there was no one else on Earth but the two of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby could hear her world crashing around her, but it was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard. He’d broken down many a wall in her, but this was it. She was sitting there in front of him, but her heart was in freefall. And God, it was such a rush.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m in love with you, Abby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was hers. This open, kind, funny man was hers. And, she realized, she’d been his from the moment she’d tasted that weird French soup of his.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m in love with you too,” she replied, and it amazed her how easy it was to say those words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And even the hardest cynic with the coldest heart would have been forced to admit that there was joy in this world, had he seen their smiles, brighter than an August day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the silence became too much, too loud for their fragile hearts, already racing from their confessions, Abby broke it with a passing comment about how their dinner was getting cold, but Marcus’ smile only grew bigger when he tasted it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is bœuf bourguignon! You made me a French dish!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did,” Abby admitted. “The pictures looked horrendous but I could somewhat recall having had it once, and I figured it had to be good, if it was so renowned.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I love it! It’s the best possible use of red wine in cuisine, if you ask me!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he avidly emptied his plate, Abby could feel her heart being filled with pure ecstasy, that burned through her veins like a drug. If she had her daughter and that man by her side, she knew she could do anything.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Previously on <i>What's Good in the World</i>: Marcus went over to Abby's for a date, and they confessed their love to one another. Clarke told Abby about Lexa (well, Marcus did, really) and Bellamy is in Prue, unsure of whether he wants to stay at the Ark or not.<br/>In this chapter: Abby and Marcus enjoy their newfound closeness, and everyone makes plans.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It had been well over a week since Marcus had come for dinner—and surprisingly, nothing more—at her house, but Abby still hadn’t come down from her high. Every time they crossed paths in the corridors sent tingles down her spine and every second that they spent with each other, she could feel herself falling for him a bit more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just the way life was, nowadays. The British Lit professor, her art student daughter, still brilliant as ever, and the ex-playboy Art professor that had made its way into their hearts, albeit in different ways. There was also Bellamy, who’d accepted the apprenticeship at the bakery and effectively ended his time as an Ark student—Abby had been saddened by the news, but a phone call with him had changed that. He’d sounded so lively and happy that she would have been a fool to have any regrets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How come he got an apprenticeship at a bakery? He was a literature student, that’s hardly any qualification,” she’d asked Marcus, who’d smiled his sad crooked smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The best baker in Prue was a very good friend of the family. He saw Bell grow up and never missed a birthday—baked him an amazing cake every single time. Of course, what happened next put some sort of a… damper on our relationship.” His grip on Abby’s hand was just a little too tight, and she guessed that, even if a long time had passed, the memory was still painful. “Aurora and I split, and his son Tor was the one who came and picked up the pieces of her broken heart. Giving her a beautiful daughter in doing so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh," was all that Abby had been able to say. Not much can be said in the face of heartbreak, and she knew it better than most. She'd squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Obviously, no bad feelings on my part, Octavia is amazing and Bellamy might have just found his path, and besides, it would be stupid to blame the father for the actions of the son, especially when he hasn't done anything wrong… It's just a little awkward, let's say."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can imagine."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That discussion was probably not the last that they would have about their respective pasts and pain, but Abby found that she was rather looking forward to it. She knew he truly understood her, and she felt she could bring him some comfort as well. Jacapo would be proud of her, of the fact that she was able to share her burden with someone else. That she’d finally let her guard down. She resolved to call him that night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as she was packing up, she heard a soft knock at her classroom door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Abby?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A wide smile spread on her lips and she crossed the room, walking as slow as she could but eventually giving up and running into Marcus’ arms. After a brief hug, he closed and locked the door behind him, and her breath caught in her throat at all of the implications that this simple gesture had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trying to hide me away, Kane?” she asked with a teasing smirk. He put his arms around her once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, I’m still not entirely comfortable for the entire university to know exactly what we’re up to three seconds after we were up to it. Rumors travel too fast around here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we call them rumors if they’re true?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm, I don’t know. Can we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed the distance between their faces and captured her lips with his own. His arms held her in place while he devoured her, and she let out a soft moan. His mouth was so soft on her, but the scratch of the stubble that he’d grown in the past few days (she suspected he was doing it solely because she liked the feel of it against her skin) added an edge that was more than delectable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When her lips parted slightly to let him in, he wasted no time in licking hot stripes of fire into her mouth. His tongue glided against hers, and she felt herself getting breathless. She moaned again when he nipped at her bottom lip and found herself wishing that her room was soundproof because she wanted him and she wanted him </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marcus…” she panted. She felt him smile against her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, she yelped as her feet left the ground as he hoisted her up in his arms, bridal style. He carried her across the room and sat her on her desk. She looked to her right, alarmed. There was a gigantic window there, that went from the floor to the ceiling, and she could see students passing by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The windows are one-way mirrors, yeah?” Marcus asked, voice husky and low. She was glad he was in the same state she was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of her objections died on her tongue when she felt him cup her sex through her jeans. A strangled moan left her lips instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a meeting in five minutes, so we better make this quick,” he growled, straight in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. He nipped and lapped at her earlobe while he undid her pants, and she couldn’t have concealed her labored breathing if she’d tried. Her clit was already throbbing in anticipation and, when he brought a hand to one of her breasts, she grabbed his wrist and concentrated as much as she could to get the right words out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marcus, I need you to fuck me. Quit messing around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smirked and lifted her in his arms again, except this time she was back on the desk in a second. Without her pants, and her panties at the very edge of it, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to fuck you, Abby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that, he dropped to his knees and hooked his fingers on either side of her plain black panties. He tugged them down and Abby hissed as the cold air hit her center. She was soaked, and she knew it. The look of wonder on her face when he realized it made her pussy clench painfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marcus, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He indulged her half a second later, as he kissed her clit. She tried her best to remain silent, but she knew it wouldn’t last long. He felt so good. He licked broad strokes from her entrance to her clit, tongue flush against her, and she gripped his hair for some sort of balance. Her head was swimming in ecstasy, and she only realized she’d closed her eyes when stars started bursting behind her eyelids. His stubble was scratching the inside of her thighs in the best way, pleasure with just a side of pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt a finger teasing at her entrance as he started sucking on her clit enthusiastically. She almost choked on the groan that had been about to leave her lips and cried out instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled away from her, and she wouldn’t stop the whine she let out. She was buzzing with pleasure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to be quiet, Abby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded frantically. Anything to get his mouth back on her. He smirked and slid her panties from her ankles. She moaned again as she understood what he was about to do. She opened her mouth obediently and all traces of humor disappeared from his face. He shoved her panties in her mouth and immediately went back to work. Abby felt as if she was about to pass out. The smell of her own arousal swam all around her, and the idea that he had to gag her to stop her from alerting the whole university as to their activities was electrifying. A second later, though, he pressed a finger into her and she bit down on the piece of fabric, pleasure shooting through her.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Marcus barely gave her the time to adjust to his finger before he added a second one and he heard her suck in a sharp breath. Her walls were clenching furiously around him and he was so hard in his pants that it almost hurt. Still, the noises he was dragging out of her were entirely worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started pumping his hand hard, in and out of her, hooking his fingers to stimulate her most sensitive spot, as he started twirling his tongue around her clit. A muffled cry came from above him and he felt grateful for the improvised gag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a while, her pussy started clenching uncontrollably, so hard that it made moving his fingers much more difficult. She was about to come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at me.” She didn’t comply, her eyes still screwed shut. He forced himself to take his fingers out of her and to stop touching her completely. Her eyes flew open, and she let out a gargled sound. “I want you to look at me while you come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her pussy visibly clenched in front of his face, and he resumed licking her, shoving his two fingers back into her. Her back was impossibly arched and he could see her struggling to keep her eyes open. He started pumping into her again, faster and harder, relentlessly assaulting her G-spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was back on the edge in no time, but this time, her brown eyes were locked onto his, her lashes fluttering. He kept pounding into her and licking furiously, devouring the look on her face until she couldn’t take it anymore and her eyes closed again as she cried out, the noise barely muffled by the fabric in her mouth. Her walls clenched so hard his fingers couldn’t move anymore and she tugged on his hair to get his head away from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled and stood up, biting back a groan. His knees were really sore. He slipped two fingers in her mouth and tugged her panties out. He laid them on the desk beside her and bent down, kissing her softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did really well, Abby,” he said. Her eyes finally opened, and she looked up at him with wonder in her eyes. God, he loved her so much. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “You’ve been so good for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged him back down, kissing him again. It was sweet and soft, just lips against lips, and Marcus thought he could spend his life doing that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Marcus,” she whispered against his lips, like a prayer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too.” He laid a kiss in her hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pushed herself off the edge of the desk and reached into a drawer, pulling out a pair of clean underwear. Of course she was the type of person to have a change of clothes at work. He gazed at her adoringly as she put all of her clothes back one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t you have a meeting?” she asked when she was done. She had a cheeky smile that made him want to engulf her in the biggest hug he’d ever given anyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Jaha is waiting for me. But it doesn’t matter, I can stay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go. I’m alright.” She beamed up at him. She looked so young when she smiled. So pure. Untouched by the ugly things of the world. “Go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded and kissed her one last time before he slipped away. He felt bad for leaving her like that, but Jaha didn’t look kindly to being forgotten.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Abby watched Marcus leave with a contented smile, her mind completely wiped clean, like only really good sex managed to achieve. She finished gathering her stuff, shoving her wet panties to the bottom of her bag.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She got home a bit later than she usually would, but Clarke, who was sitting at the kitchen island, sketching away in her notebook, didn’t seem to mind, as she barely looked up to shoot her mother a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” she said absentmindedly. “I heated up some pasta if you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Abby replied. “I’m gonna take a shower first, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She prayed her daughter wouldn’t ask why she would take a shower again when she’d showered that morning, and breathed out in relief when she closed the bathroom door behind her without Clarke calling after her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stripped down and got into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the stress of the day, as well as… other things. When she got out, she wrapped herself in her fluffy towel and wiped the foggy mirror so she could get a clear look at herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked good. Rested, healthy. Happy. She realized with a twinge of sadness that maybe she’d been a bit off all along, and hadn’t realized it. Only now, in the face of peaceful happiness, did she understand that something might have been wrong before. She didn’t think that it was a matter of loneliness—well, maybe in a way. It was being able to open up to someone, letting herself be vulnerable, that made her feel whole now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She padded out of the bathroom and headed for her bedroom, feeling content.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grate some cheese, will you, darling?” she shouted in the general direction of the kitchen. She’d gone and bought artisanal cheese, following Marcus’ example. She had to admit it tasted better than the stuff she used to buy, pre-grated in a plastic bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In her room, she slipped into her fluffy pajamas and her purple dressing gown—the one Marcus had dreamt about. She smiled at the memory of his bashful admission. He’d also said he’d dreamt about her more than once, which was also her case, she supposed. When someone is a constant in your daily life, you’re bound to dream about them. Sadly, Abby rarely remembered her dreams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She closed her bedroom door behind her and made her way to the kitchen, where Clarke was waiting for her, plates set and full of very cheesy pasta. She walked around the island to plant a kiss on her daughter’s cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat down and tucked into their meals. Abby made an appreciative noise—she’d been starving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So good. Thank you, baby.” Clarke only nodded in response, her own mouth full of pasta. “Did you have a good day today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke made a face at her (one that meant ‘couldn’t you have waited a few seconds’) and swallowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Classes were good. I saw Lexa,” she added, watching Abby’s face closely. She was still nervous about the situation, then. She had no reason to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How is she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s alright.” Clarke’s face lit up, warming Abby’s heart. “Actually, she wanted me to ask you if you needed help with the Expo. She’s a painter. Graffiti, mostly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made Abby happy to think that Clarke has discussed the Expo with her girlfriend. It meant a lot to her. She pondered Lexa’s offer briefly. Graffiti could mean a wide range of things, and she wasn’t a fan of most of them, but she didn’t want to shoot Clarke down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She any good?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very. And I’m not just saying that. I have some pictures, actually!” She took her phone out of her back pocket and typed away at it. “Here, look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the screen stretched a beautiful mural of a forest. It looked much more detailed than the photo could capture, but even then, it was breathtaking. Lexa was talented. She’d need to ask Marcus if he needed her services but if he did, she’d be a good addition to the project.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll call Marcus later, tell him about it. If he’s okay with it, I don’t see why not! It’s a ‘all hands on deck’ sort of situation, so it might be nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke smirked as she put her phone back in her pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Speaking of ‘Marcus’,” she said, drawing airquotes and wiggling her eyebrows before putting on a serious face, “he told us about the Expo and what we’d potentially have to do. I guess this means you’re making progress?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are!” It was Abby’s turn to smile. She was glad to have a chance to share this with her daughter. This project was very close to her heart, for so many reasons. “It’s shaping up really well. Marcus has been a godsend. We should be able to start concrete stuff in January, and it’ll be ready in March, as we hoped it would be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad.” Clarke finished her plate, and Abby happily stabbed her own pasta. A few minutes passed before Clarke spoke again. “Maybe it’s not my place to say, but he’s really good for you, mom. You’ve been so… happy, ever since things settled between the two of you.” Abby didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure how much her daughter knew, since she hadn’t kept her updated of any developments since Thanksgiving. Clarke didn’t seem to mind. “Him, too,” she continued. “Being in love suits you both. You should invite him over for dinner sometime. Maybe I could even bring Lexa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that, she got up, put her empty plate in the sink, and left in the direction of her bedroom. Abby was left alone in the kitchen, heart racing at the thoughts that her daughter’s words had raised. She’d expected to have a long discussion about what it meant that she was moving on from Jake, but Clarke seemed perfectly fine—which Abby should have expected. Her daughter was all grown-up now, and understood things. Better than Abby herself, sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was also the perspective of inviting Marcus over. Not as her colleague, but as the man she was in love with. This wasn’t something she and Marcus had talked about—the future, whether they would eventually merge their families into one or not. It was still incredibly early to decide anything, but one dinner could be the first step towards… something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took out her own phone and opened her text conversation with Marcus. She typed out a message and quickly sent it.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Clarke just said you and Lexa should come over for dinner.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to finish her plate, but she didn’t feel as hungry anymore. The situation had her on edge. Maybe Marcus wouldn’t think it was early, but she sort of did. Since Clarke would be introducing Lexa to her, to sort of felt both like she was introducing Marcus as her boyfriend, and submitting Lexa to </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>approval.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few minutes, her screen lit up with an incoming call. It was him. She accepted the call and brought the phone to her ear with a smile she couldn’t contain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” she said, hearing how stupidly in love she sounded. She didn’t really care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi.” His voice was just the same, which only made her smile widen. “So, I had an idea, but I was too lazy to type it out. Do you have a minute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Abby replied, chuckling. It was just like him to be too lazy to type. She wasn’t complaining. If it allowed her to hear his voice, she was fine with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you and Clarke doing anything for Christmas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abby’s breath caught in her throat. She’d thought it was early for a casual meal, but the thought of spending Christmas together filled her with warmth. Her head and her heart were bound to be constantly at odds, with this man in her life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing in particular. We never really do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Bellamy is staying in Prue, so I was thinking, if Lexa isn’t doing anything either, maybe we could all spend Christmas together! I’d be there as a friend, of course, since it’s probably a bit early for anything else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His tone was light and warm, but she knew this meant a lot to him—family and tradition were important to him, so spending Christmas with Abby, her daughter, and her daughter’s girlfriend was a big deal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Won’t your mother miss you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s in Scotland at the moment, and won’t be back until mid-January, so probably not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I don’t see why not! We’d be glad to have you over for Christmas, Marcus.” She bit back a smile. This was really happening. “I’ll ask Clarke if Lexa’s available, but you’re welcome either way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t wait.” His voice was full of joy, which made her happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hadn’t even asked for Clarke’s permission, but she knew her daughter wouldn’t mind. She adored the man. If she managed to shut her own brain up about timing and how new their relationship was, it would be a lot of fun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, by the way! I need your opinion on something. Lexa’s a graffiti painter, and she’s offering her help with the Expo. Would that be useful?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure!” His response was immediate, which made Abby think he would have said yes even if it was completely useless. He wanted to do something nice for Clarke, probably. Still, she hoped Lexa would actually be useful. “I know we haven’t discussed it formally but it seems pretty obvious that we’ll need banners, and if she can teach my kids how to spray paint, it’ll make it both faster and easier for everyone. So, it’s a yes from me. Assuming she’s good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She is,” Abby replied. Everything (and everyone) was coming together, which made her very happy. “Good, so that’s settled. I’ll see you tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will. I miss you already.” God, he was cheesy. It didn’t stop her from clutching her phone a bit tighter and holding it a bit closer to her ear, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss you too. Good night, Marcus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Night, Abby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The line went silent, but Abby’s stomach was still doing somersaults. However crazy it seemed, she was now looking forward to Christmas, and the first Christmas dinner she and Clarke would share with other people since Jake’s passing. It filled her with joy already. They were going to be surrounded by people who loved them, and there was nothing better than that—even if Marcus would officially be there as a friend, everyone involved knew better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She finished her plate, did the dishes, and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Before heading to her bedroom for the night, she knocked softly on Clarke’s door, before opening it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marcus said Lexa could help for the Expo, if you could text me her number so I can text it to him, that’d be great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s smile was heartwarming, and Abby fought the urge to run to her daughter’s side to engulf her in a bear hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will! Thank you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And, while you’re at it, you can tell her that she’s welcome to come spend Christmas here. Marcus is coming too, and he was the one to suggest it. If she’s not available, we’ll have to find another—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was interrupted by her daughter abruptly getting up from her chair and rushing to her side before she wrapped her mother in a tight hug. When she pulled away, her smile had grown ten times brighter than Abby had seen it be in the last few years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, mom.” Her tone was earnest, cutting through the excitement to let her mother know how truly grateful she was. Abby briefly wondered how some parents could abandon their children for loving someone, when accepting them could bring them so much joy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She planted a kiss on Clarke’s cheek and they said their good nights, before each heading to bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abby tried to read a bit, but her mind was swirling with a thousand thoughts—of Marcus, her daughter, and what the future might have in store—, so she grabbed her phone and put on a literature podcast, which she ended up drifting off to.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was only two weeks to Christmas but, as they usually did, they loomed ahead, looking like a small eternity. Marcus was quite looking forward to the holiday, though, so he did his best to be patient, knowing that the reward would be worth it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Christmas was a big deal in their family, and he’d never spent it with someone who wasn’t family—which was why it had taken on great importance that he would spend it with Abby. In a way, he wasn’t breaking the tradition. He’d told her he would only be there as a friend, and he stood by that offer, because he didn’t want to invite himself into her home and impose himself as the new man in the Griffins’ lives, but he knew it would be hard to keep his hands to himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Managing it at university was hard enough (and he’d failed, as of recently), but having to play nice in a private context was something else altogether. They hadn’t really bothered for Bellamy, but it was under different circumstances. Besides, Lexa would be there, meeting Abby for the first time as he’d understood, and he didn’t want to make that awkward in any way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would come with a delicious treat (which he hadn’t actually chosen yet, but he wanted to sweep them all off their tastebuds like he’d done Abby the first time he’d cooked for her) and make light conversation, and sleep on the couch if he’d drunk too much to drive home. He could be a good boy. He would be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He decided to call his mother. He hadn’t checked in on her in a few days, and some part of him wanted to tell her all about Abby, which he had yet to do. He wasn’t sure how much he would say, but knowing Vera, she would want to hear the tiniest details.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She picked up after the third ring, her voice immediately bringing joy and comfort to Marcus’ heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, hello there!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, mom. How are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m very well, thank you!” She sounded well. She sounded rested and happy, which he supposed was normal when you were on a trip on the other side of the planet. It was 10 in Tulsa, which meant it was 16 in Scotland. “I’m in my hotel room in Edinburgh right now, I was about to head out to discover new neighborhoods of the city that I haven’t seen yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t keep you long, then, I just wanted to check in. Where are you going next?” His mother hadn’t told him much about her trip, just that she was going to Edinburgh, where she’d grown up, and that she would then visit places where her mother and grandparents had lived. He sort of wished he was there with her, but he also knew that it was good for her to do this herself, and that he would have plenty of time to travel as he wished once </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>retired.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going up to Aberdeen for a couple of days, then I’ll go to a small town way up north, called Garmouth. And then I’ll just play darts with my map and go where the wind takes me!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That sounds nice, mom. I’m glad it’s going well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She deserved it, really. For as long as he could remember, she’d been talking about going back to Scotland. It was where she’d been born, after all. But she had no real reason to, as her parents had died one after the other two years after she’d arrived in America. Needless to say that Marcus hadn’t had grandparents—as if not having a father wasn’t bad enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought he ought to have inherited everything from his mother, since she’d been alone in raising him, but he was nowhere near as extraordinary as she was. Every single one of her qualities had been watered down when they’d passed onto him. Which meant he was a decent person, but still far from carrying Vera’s legacy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about you?” she asked, pulling him out of his reflections. “Is everything going okay at home? Did you find someone to spend Christmas with?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have, actually.” He was glad to be able to at least say that, because his mother would have been sad to think of him all alone for Christmas. Though that was going to be her case, she would be in the magical country that she’d spent decades away from, which largely compensated for it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope it’s not that Cage character. You know I don’t like him, and besides-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not Cage, mom,” he interrupted with a chuckle. She really didn’t like the guy, and he could understand why, but he’d also given him a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>of money, so Marcus felt he owed him a bit of friendship, at least. “It’s… someone quite special, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If she pushed, he would spill the beans. All of the beans. He actually wanted to tell her more than anything. She wasn’t the type of mother who worried that her son wasn’t married at forty, but she was still the type of mother who would feel overjoyed that he had found someone as amazing and wonderful as Abby. He wanted to scream his love for her at the top of his lungs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah? Would you happen to be in a relationship with that special someone?” Vera had a smile in her voice, which made Marcus smile too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am. It’s quite fresh but I’ve known her for years. Well, I might have mentioned her, actually. Her name is Abby, she’s one of my colleagues.” He didn’t mention the circumstances in which he might have mentioned her, in case he hadn’t. It felt stupid now, to have entertained a feud with her for so long, when they understood each other more than anyone else could.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wasn’t she that one you called your arch enemy?” Marcus let out a snort at that. He might have called her that once or twice. Jesus, he knew how to be dramatic. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>you couldn’t feel that strongly about someone if you weren’t attracted to them. So, tell me, how is she? What does Indra think of her?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed, then, a full belly laugh that shook his body and left him feeling elated. God, he loved his mother. She always had unexpected gems of wisdom to share.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indra approves of her. She pretty much said the same thing you did.” Vera had a very high opinion of Indra, and consequently of her opinions. That Abby had the Indra seal of approval would make her mother accept her without knowing her, which was nice. “As for what I think, which might also be of importance… She’s absolutely wonderful, mom. She makes me laugh, and she makes me feel all of the cheesy romcom feelings, and she loves Bellamy so much… It’s hard not getting my hopes up. I really feel like this is it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was almost surprised by how open he was being about his feelings. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have been caught dead saying the sort of things he’d just told his mother. He had tried really hard to overcome his ‘toxic masculinity’, when he’d moved to Tulsa, though. He’d wanted to set a good example for Bellamy. He’d read books, and had subscribed to online forums… he was only just now realizing the impact it had had. He felt proud of himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s no harm in getting your hopes up, sweetheart. Besides, if she agreed to spend Christmas with you, she probably cares a great deal about you. Let yourself feel what you’re feeling. If it changes someday, well, you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what I’ve been telling myself. Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sound happy. That’s all I want for you.” There was a pause, but Marcus didn’t want to speak. He felt so peaceful. “I have to go now. Call me again in a few days, alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They said their goodbyes and Marcus hung up. He felt really happy to think that his mother knew about Abby. The two women would absolutely love each other when they met eventually. That was something else he was looking forward to. It was a beautiful thought, that he and Abby had so many firsts, so many milestones, to reach, together. He couldn’t wait for any of it. He hoped she felt the same way—he thought she did, because he saw the look of love he knew he had for her reflected back at him when she looked at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He called Bellamy next, who informed him that he would start his apprenticeship at the bakery the next Monday. He seemed so gleeful, and the ache that had been in Marcus’ chest ever since his son had left both eased and deepened, somehow. He was over the moon that his son was happy, but he wished he could hug him. Maybe he’d swing by Prue, swallow his pride, and crash on Aurora’s couch. Not that she had or would ever have done the same thing for Bellamy.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The weather had turned considerably colder, and Abby’s breath was materialized by big puffs of mist as she jogged through the woods. She needed to tire herself out, because she’d been a bundle of nerves ever since she’d agreed on having Marcus over for Christmas. She felt excited and nervous and all of those things you were not supposed to feel after you turned thirty. She felt like a teenager again, with butterflies in her stomach and a neverending libido.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once she got home shortly after, she decided to call the man in question, just because she could and she didn’t want to wait the few hours that separated her from his usual visit to her classroom to hear his voice. He picked up almost immediately, which made her think he’d been on his phone already. That was unusual.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He informed her he’d been on the phone with his mother and with Bellamy, and she was glad to hear his family was doing alright. He told her that both of them had given he and Abby their blessing, and Abby choked up a bit at the thought of it, which made both of them laugh. They then expressed their love for one another and promised they’d see each other at the end of the day.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was a few days later, at one of their after-classes meetings, that Marcus surprised her with an impromptu dinner invitation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, I’ve been lonely in my big apartment all by myself, and I wouldn’t mind some company… of course, if there’s a delicious meal waiting for you there, I have nothing to do with it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He winked at her, and she couldn’t stop herself from kissing him square on the mouth. It soon turned to something more and their tongues glided together, comfortably, slowly, tasting each other like they could stay there all night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they parted, breathless, his smile was almost as big as her own, and she had to use every last drop of self-control she had not to return the favor he’d made her a few days prior, and drop to her knees right there and then, the open door be damned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would love to have dinner with you. Let me just text Clarke.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She did, and they went to Marcus’ car. She debated taking her own car but eventually decided against it, because it meant they’d get to drive to work together the next morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ride to his flat was pleasant, filled with laughter and traded anecdotes. Entering his flat was even lovelier—it smelled absolutely divine, and there were potted primroses on the counter. The petals were bright red, except in the center, where they were yellow. Marcus handed her the flower pot with a conspirational smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Primroses are a symbol of young love, and they mean ‘I can’t live without you’. And I thought a pot would be better than a bouquet, because they last.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abby took the flowers in one hand and traced the petals with her free hand, as delicately as she could. They were soft under her fingertips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she breathed out. She looked back up and met Marcus’ eyes. The love she saw shining back at her hit her in the chest with the full force of a hurricane. She set the flowers back on the counter and cupped his face in her hands, standing on her tiptoes so she could lay a soft kiss on his lips. “They’re beautiful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They just stood there, holding each other silently for a few minutes, only interrupted by Abby’s grumbling stomach, causing both of them to laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marcus had made them chili con carne, which Abby ate two servings of, and there was vanilla ice cream for dessert. All in all, it was quite simple, but they left the table feeling stuffed and content.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They settled on the couch, Abby leaning into Marcus’ side and put on a movie, both of them smiling because of the memories of the first time they’d been in this situation. During the whole movie, they shared glances and smiles, and stroked the patches of skin they would reach. As the end credits rolled, Marcus was sliding into Abby and they rocked together softly, making love to each other as if it was both the first and last time. Delicately, tenderly, lovingly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Afterward, they lay entangled on Marcus’ uncomfortable couch and chatted softly, until Abby started to fall asleep on his chest and they moved to his bed for the night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She went to work wearing one of his light blue shirts tucked into her jeans the next morning, and they ended up almost being late because the sight had turned him on so much that he’d had her on his kitchen counter, the morning sun that came through the huge windows warming their skin.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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